Culper
by unilocular
Summary: During a mundane murder, a strange piece of evidence brings a Revolutionary War mystery to light. When the past collides with the present, solving the mystery becomes the key to saving one of their own. Team fic, focus on Tony and McGee. Casefic. Rated T for language and violence. Some Tony/McGee whump. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creators.  
**

**Title :** _Culper_

**Summary :** _During a routine investigation, the team uncovers a piece of evidence that links their murder to a Revolutionary War mystery. What happens when the past collides with the present? Set mid-season 4. Teamfic. Casefile. No spoilers, no ships. Rated T for language and violence.  
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**Author's Note :** _Please be aware this story contains some language and minor violence. I've tried to keep that and the descriptions to be no worse than what we see in the show. I still rate it to be a T/PG-13. _**  
**

_This story is almost complete. It's looking to be around 25 or so chapters, plus an epilogue. Most of it is written and edited. I'm just lacking the motivation to finish it, so I hope that posting will force me to get it done. Updates will be sporadic until after the holidays. Early next year, it'll probably go back to Tuesday/Friday updates.  
_

_I have taken liberties with this story, so please bear with me. Some of the history is factual and a bit I have fabricated to fit the story. There's been a fair bit of research that's gone into this story for both locations and history. If anything is factual inaccurate or against protocol (especially military stuff), PM me and I will make any appropriate changes.  
_

_Even though this story ended up slightly Tony-centric with McGee playing a strong secondary character, it is still a team fic. I've tried my best to portray Tony as the competent investigator that we haven't seen for several seasons.  
_

_Any feedback is always appreciated, please just keep it constructive.  
_

_Well, that's enough out of me. Let's get on with it.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Tuesday, November 14, 2006 - 1:05pm - Rock Creek Park, Washington, DC -**

Grinning to herself, Annie Dobson could barely contain her excitement. Earlier in the morning, she'd placed a call to her employer's human resources department. After a well-rehearsed fake cough and froggy voice, the woman on the other line was quickly convinced that Annie was indeed ill. She'd rationalized that she needed the day off for her mental health, more so than her physical. The clientele at the bank had been draining her lately.

Thus far, her "mental health" day had been absolute perfection. After a lazy morning at Starbucks, she had the afternoon free to walk her husky through Rock Creek Park's trails. At a time when she'd normally be starting her afternoon shift, she strolled down a thickly forested path just off Beach Road. Pausing momentarily, she let her pet sniff a spot in the dead leaves. As she pulled on the leash to get the dog moving, she watched the bright afternoon sunlight filter through the leafless branches of the trees. It was amazing how much fuller the sun was on a fall afternoon than in the evening after work.

When a cold wind blasted through her light jacket, she closed her eyes and shivered. Choosing that moment for an opportunity at freedom, her husky bolted and Annie lost her hold on the leash.

"Tyson! Get back here!" Watching the furry tail disappear, she sprinted into the forest after him. "Tyson!"

Moving through the trees, she glanced around nervously. Somewhere nearby, the dog emitted a low growl and fear tightened her throat. "Tyson?"

Suddenly, a grey shape bounded at her and she screamed. When her dog rubbed against her leg, she let out a relieved laugh and grabbed the leash. It wasn't until she ran her hand over his head that she noticed the black object in Tyson's mouth.

"What do you have there, Ty? Let it go." When Annie pulled at the object, the dog released the black men's dress shoe. While she tried to figure out why her dog had a shoe, Tyson pulled at the leash again and bounded back into the woods. As she broke into a run after him, an ominous feeling spread through her. When Annie caught up to her dog, he was in a small clearing, sniffing a large, brown mass on the ground.

Transfixed, she approached the object. _The lump looked almost human.__ Wait, it was human.._

For several seconds, she stared slack-jawed at the young man wearing the khaki uniform. Face peaceful and tiled towards the sky, he lay on his back with his legs twisted underneath his body. He looked almost peaceful. Wondering why the young man chose to nap here, she stepped closer to study the his ashen face.

When she noticed the bullet hole in his forehead, she started screaming.

She was still screaming minutes later when Metro police arrived.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**1:42pm - Bullpen - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

"Cold cases," Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo grumbled, clicking something on his computer. "So many cold cases."

Since crime around the Navy had been painfully slow lately, the team was scheduled a few precious "off" weeks. Under normal circumstances, DiNozzo would be ecstatic for the time to relax and recharge. The team's typical overnight and weekend shifts took their toll on his morale and anemic social life. Though after two weeks with no new case, he had found something even more detrimental to the team's drive than long hours. _Cold cases._

After the novelty of leaving early enough for a proper dinner wore off, the cold cases began to wear down everyone on the team. With his days filled with mind-numbing paper trails and reconstructing unsolved murders, DiNozzo had stopped enjoying his work for the first time in his career.

With a pained sigh, Tony turned his attention back to his computer. He was _supposed _to be reviewing a ten-year old case involving a young ensign.

"What are you complaining about, DiNozzo? It's not like you're even working." An annoyed Special Agent Timothy McGee glared at him from the opposite corner of the bullpen. On the surface of the junior agent's desk, an open file's contents were strewn haphazardly. As the younger man put his pen on his desk, several sheets of paper fell to the floor and he made a face.

Tension always seemed to run high between the team whenever cold cases were involved. The age of most cases left a dearth of technological and computer evidence which rendered McGee nearly useless. Since Ziva was a woman of action, files and paperwork were slightly outside of her lethal Mossad training. Cold cases always left DiNozzo bored and craving more. After years of being filed away, leads dried up and witnesses vanished. There was no thrill left in catching a murderer years after the act.

As for Gibbs, well, he wasn't allowed to be bothered. Whenever he read about a previous agent's ineptitude, it left him more pissed than usual. To save themselves, the team always prevented him from reaching the file box with inane missions to nowhere. For the past two weeks, he'd divided his time between Abby's lab, the director's office or calibrating the cameras in MTAC. At the moment, he was discussing DiNozzo's denied food expense reports with the director.

"Tony, the sooner we get through these, the sooner we can do something else," complained McGee, voice dangerously bordering on a whine. When he motioned to the open file on his desk, another page fell to the floor.

Rolling his eyes, Tony shook his head at the younger man. "Like what? Organize the evidence garage again?" Shuddering, he tried not to remember the last time they organized the garage. A small spat with Ziva over the correct way to log evidence had led to the male agents being locked in the evidence locker for several hours. They hadn't been released until McGee managed to rig a few pieces of evidence into an antenna so they could contact security.

"Well, something more exciting than that." Popping up from his desk as he retrieved the fallen papers, the junior agent shot DiNozzo a knowing smile. "But you _should _be working."

"I am working!" Tony exclaimed, gesturing to the case file on his desk.

"You are not! You're playing that movie trivia game you made me install last week," McGee stated, gesturing towards Tony's monitor. As more papers fluttered to the floor, he sighed and disappeared under his desk.

"_I am working. _As senior field agent, I'm monitoring the efforts of my underlings." Across the bullpen, Mossad Liaison Ziva David glared at him lethally. Picking up her pen, she managed to make the innocuous object appear menacing. DiNozzo laughed nervously and loosened his tie. "Underling. I'm monitoring my underling. That means you, McGoo. Any progress in the case that you're reviewing?"

Pressing his lips together, McGee shook his head. "There's a reason it's cold. Though if you don't get back to yours, I'm telling Gibbs about the game."

"You wouldn't, would you?" When he met his junior agent's eyes, Tony knew the younger man meant business. Sighing, he turned his attention to the open file. Unable to focus, his eyes glanced first at a now occupied McGee, then to his computer. The question : _Who said 'I am big! It's just the pictures that got small?' _sat in front of him in huge red letters.

_Damn, he should know the answer! _

While he racked his brain for the source of the quote, he flipped through his file. The case involved a young ensign, home on leave for a few weeks. On the day of his murder, the victim was at his home. Witness statements revealed only his wife knew he was there. Conveniently, the wife had been visiting her sister in Virgina while her husband bled to death. Following a hunch, he ran a quick background search on the wife. _Aha, only child. Figures the wife did it. _

Writing a note on a Post-It, he slid the file on top of the other three that comprised his 'solved pile.' Across from him, Ziva exhaled loudly. DiNozzo's eyes met McGee's wide ones. Any emotion from the regularly reserved assassin was surprising.

Slamming her case file closed, Ziva growled. "What is the point of all this pencil pounding?"

DiNozzo shrugged, unsure what English reference she attempted. Apparently catching onto her misused euphemisms quicker than Tony, McGee smiled tightly. "It's paper pushing, Ziva. We're trying to solve old cases that teams before us weren't able to. Sometimes, fresh eyes and a little technology can close an investigation."

"I know, McGee," she stated, sounding strained. "But some cases do not get solved due to severe mistakes. This one," she pointed to her file, "the agent left the DNA evidence in a car _in July_."

"Yeah," Tony said, looking back to his game. "That guy probably got fired."

When she let out a resigned sigh, Tony figured she was speaking for the three of them. Reaching into the box behind his desk, DiNozzo fished out yet another case file. As he plopped the manila folder on his desk, he laughed quietly to himself. _He never thought he'd see a day where he was looking forward to a murder. _

Without warning, the hairs on the back of Tony's neck rose and the smell of burnt coffee assaulted his nostrils.

"Find something funny in that file, DiNozzo?" Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs growled, his head appearing above the partition by Tony's desk.

"Not at all, boss." Knowing it was too late, DiNozzo minimized the game screen anyway.

"Grab your gear. We've got a dead Petty Officer in Rock Creek Park." Heading to his desk, Gibbs pulled out his weapon and badge. As Gibbs started to march towards the elevator, the rest of his team began spring to life.

_Oh thank G-d. _

To DiNozzo's surprise, he watched McGee rise from his desk, face thoughtful. "Boss, isn't this one of our 'off' weeks? I thought Barrows' and Stetson's teams were active."

At that moment, everyone in the bullpen froze and DiNozzo thought he even saw a passing agent pause. A look of surprise at his own stupidity passed over McGee's face and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for what he knew was coming. Not wanting to watch the scene unfold, DiNozzo busied himself by digging through his backpack. _Adios, Probie. _

"Stetson's team is in Norfolk investigating a drug ring involving Navy personnel and Barrows' team is in West Virginia, following up a lead on their murder," Gibbs growled, face inches from McGee's. Eyes still closed, the junior agent screwed his face as the team leader landed a heavy headslap on the back of his head. Unconsciously, DiNozzo rubbed the back of his own.

"_We're never off, McGee." _


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer :** _Nope, still don't own anything but NCIS seasons 1 - 5 on DVD. _

**Author's note : **_Big thanks to all the readers, favoriters and followers so far. Extra special thanks to _**_Megth _**_and **sopmire** __for taking the time to review. I appreciate the time you've taken to leave your thoughts. _**  
**

_Hope everyone has a nice holiday (if you do Christmas). Hope you had a nice Hanukkah or Solstice. If you don't celebrate anything, well then happy December.  
_

_Let's get on with it.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**2:17pm - Somewhere on the streets of Washington, DC -**

As the NCIS truck swung a left turn from the rightmost lane, DiNozzo clutched the door handle and squeezed his eyes shut. A dull thud sounded from behind his seat and echoed through the cabin. Knocking on the metal separating the two areas, he called out. "Hey Probie! You okay back there?"

Blowing through a red light, Ziva began swearing in Hebrew at two cars that spun out and honked their horns. The racket drowned out any confirmation that his junior agent had survived the vehicular carnage thus far. Another sharp right and a dull thud sounded on the driver's side.

"Slow down, Ziva!" Tony ordered. "I don't want to go back to work in a bodybag." One of the perks of being alive was that he only listened to a portion of Ducky's stories. If he were dead, he'd have to listen to them in their entirety. "_I said, slow down!"_

Slowing slightly, she suddenly cut the wheel, narrowly missing the pedestrian _in a crosswalk at a red light. _As the truck flew past the surprised man, Ziva blasted the horn for half a block. When they reached the next stop light, she surprisingly slammed on the brakes at the sight of red. Beside them, a bearded man in a blue Honda raised his middle finger at her. As the light changed to green, Tony thought he saw her hand was slide towards her holster. Instead, she floored the gas and peeled out of the intersection.

"Pull over," DiNozzo barked. Ignoring him, she blew through another light and flipped off a Subaru. _Well, there was no denying she certainly was assimilating to American culture. _"Pull over!" Deftly switching lanes, she barely avoided a pregnant pedestrian and continued down the road at warp speed.

"_Ziva, pull the damn truck over. Now!" _

Cutting the wheel hard to the left, she crossed three lanes of traffic before stopping dead in a left hand turn lane. DiNozzo winced at the loud _thwack _McGee made as he collided with the back of the cabin. _Felt that one. _

As she turned off the ignition, Tony ripped the keys out of the starter. "I thought you were taking driving lessons!"

"I was. The instructor continually informed me of my faults so I decided to stop."

"That's what they're supposed to do!" DiNozzo yelled, jumping out of the truck to check on his junior agent. When he rounded the veicle, he shrugged at the line of honking cars behind them. Pulling open the back doors, he quietly hoped that Ziva's joyride hadn't killed McGee. If the junior agent were dead, there would be a lot of paperwork to fill out. _And t__here was no way that he was doing all the work until Gibbs could pick another probie_.

Just as Tony started to peer inside, McGee dove out, nearly colliding with the senior agent. Tim only managed a few steps before falling to his knees and emptying his stomach contents on the asphalt. As the Mazda directly behind them laid on its horn again, DiNozzo held his arms up and pointed at the younger man knelt on the ground.

"Lessons," McGee gasped, leaning onto his hands.

"Her instructor kept telling her how to improve, so she fired him." Looking sympathetically at McGee, Tony crossed his arms.

"Figures," the junior agent murmured, more to the painted white line on the road than DiNozzo.

With his back against the truck, Tony waited until McGee felt well enough to stand. Breathing heavily, the junior agent sat on the bumper and DiNozzo pushed the younger man's head between his knees. As they relaxed, the senior agent watched the cars lined behind them enter traffic. For some reason, a woman in a black Mazda didn't move and angrily watched them.

"Have you two finished?" Ziva asked, suddenly appearing by Tony's arm.

"Whoa!" DiNozzo jumped and McGee let out a yelp.

The woman in the Mazda honked her horn again and Ziva raised her middle finger. As the woman blared it again, the Mossad liaison reached for her holster and started towards the car.

"We're ready!" Reaching out, Tony caught Ziva's arm. "You okay, Probster?" A very green-looking McGee glanced up, giving DiNozzo a tight smile. "Good. McGoo," DiNozzo glanced back at the pile of emesis on the road's shoulder, "you're riding shotgun. You're in the back, Ziva!"

Clearing his throat, McGee spoke up with a raspy voice. "Uh. Tony. I, uh - . There's - ." Ziva crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes first at the junior agent before DiNozzo.

"Yeah, I know." Tony put a hand on McGee's shoulder and pushed him toward the front of the truck. "Trash bags are in the second drawer on the left, Zee-vah. You know where the gloves are." As she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head and started towards the driver's seat.

"_If you make the Probie sick, you get to clean up after him_."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**2:48pm - Rock Creek Park, Washington, DC -**

As DiNozzo pulled the truck to the location McGee provided, he actively tried to ignore the sound of Lamaze breathing in the passenger seat. When he didn't see the autopsy truck, he figured Palmer had probably taken another detour to New Jersey. Another hiccuped inhale followed by a loud exhale exited the junior agent.

"Alright, McGee, just what the hell are you doing?" Tony asked, shutting off the truck engine.

"Breathing through the seasickness. It's a little trick my dad taught me when he tried to take me fishing," the junior agent explained, smiling brightly.

"So does it work?" Sliding out of the truck, DiNozzo saw his junior agent frown. When McGee turned away quickly to the scramble out of the truck, DiNozzo realized it probably didn't help.

As they rounded to the back of the truck, the doors opened and Ziva jumped out, already pulling on her hat. Thrusting a pair of jackets and hats at them, she turned and grabbed the evidence bag before stalking off. The male agents' eyes met and they shared a shrug. Reaching into the back, Tony retrieved the camera and passed it to McGee.

Following after Ziva, DiNozzo noticed a Navy-issue Charger up the road and figured the team must be in the right place. While McGee called out directions, they adjusted their course as needed. Finally, they entered a small clearing that was free of the lifeless trees. In the center of the clearing, a man dressed in service khakis lay on his back with his head tilted to the sky. Crouched over the body, Gibbs was already hard at work.

Rubbing the back of his head, DiNozzo figured they all deserved a head slap for the lateness. Though maybe McGee didn't need another one, he'd already had his circuits fried earlier.

"Glad you could make it, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, looking directly at Tony.

"Don't mention it, boss," Tony grinned, watching McGee remove the camera from its bag and assemble it. "Where's Ducky?"

"Got a call from Palmer a while ago. They're stuck in construction."

"Boss, the construction is in the opposite direction from here," McGee volunteered.

Ignoring his junior field agent, Gibbs turned his attention back to the body. "Ziva, bag and tag. DiNozzo, pictures. McGee, find me a weapon."

After passing the camera to Tony, McGee started a few feet from the body and began walking in enlarging circles as he searched through the fallen leaves. Nearby, Ziva was canvasing the area among the fallen leaves. Every so often, she would stoop to retrieve something and place it in a plastic evidence bag.

Camera heavy around his neck, DiNozzo stood over the body. The victim was a young man in his 20s with bright red hair. Still dressed in his service khakis, Tony noticed his name tag was missing and snapped a picture. Lying on his back with his legs twisted beneath him, Tony surmised he'd likely been kneeling when shot. As he took a photo of the bullet hole in the middle of the victim's forehead, the senior agent swallowed hard. _Execution style. _

Unconsciously, the senior field agent shivered. Out of all the murders he'd investigated, these were usually the worst. Checking the body closer, there was a faint indentation on the left hand's ring finger. Either the ring was stolen or he wasn't wearing it when he died. No cuts or calluses on his hands, likely the man didn't work on anything mechanical.

"Mr. Palmer! _Just where are you taking me_?" A weary British voice broke the stillness of the late autumn day. Glancing into the woods, DiNozzo searched the trees for the medical examiner and his assistant.

"I'm sorry, doctor. I think it's up here. Maybe I should call Agent Gibbs again."

From his perch by the head of the corpse, the team leader gave a low growl. DiNozzo decided he should save the autopsy gremlin from whatever painful end Gibbs was planning. "We're over here, Palmer!"

"See! I told you this was the right way!" ME Assistant Jimmy Palmer exclaimed, as he and the aging Medical Examiner entered the edge of the clearing.

"That was what you said after you took us through Chevy Chase and then when we entered the wrong side of the park. We wandered these woods for over half an hour, Mr. Palmer. Oh, Anthony! It's so nice to _finally_ see you," NCIS Medical Examiner Donald Mallard exclaimed, voice weary, "hello, Jethro."

"Hiya, Duck. What have we got?" Standing, Gibbs crossed his arms and visually checked on his other agents. He then looked expectantly at Mallard.

"Jethro, I've only just arrived," Mallard started, adjusting his hat. "I - ."

"Well, it appears we have a body," Palmer stated emphatically, imitating Mallard's manner. As Gibbs' angry eyes blazed on him, he laughed nervously before dropping to his knees and digging through the doctor's bag. Handing a liver probe to Mallard, he mumbled something about a gurney and, without another word, disappeared into the forest.

"Well, Mr. Palmer was partially right." Crouching down, Mallard lifted the corpse's shirt and inserted the probe. "Based on liver temperature and the cooler air, I believe our young man died somewhere between four and eight this morning. With the placement of the body and its location," he motioned to the isolated area and corpse "this was likely an execution. But I'll be able to tell you more when I get him back home. This body reminds me of crime scene photos we had to review in my training of the St. Valentine's Day Mass - ."

"Thanks, Duck," Gibbs cut the aging ME off before walking away.

As a great movie popped into this head, DiNozzo grinned at Mallard. "_ ' That no good louse. ' _The St. Valentine's Day Massacre.1967. Jason Robards, George Segal. It was Jack Nicholson's first mov - ."

"DiNozzo! Get your ass over here!" When the team leader's angry voice shattered the forest's stillness, the birds burst out of the lifeless trees. Before Gibbs had a chance to yell again, Tony sprinted across the clearing.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**3:23pm - Rock Creek Park, Washington, DC -**

Letting out a frustrated sigh, McGee moved through the forest as he searched for a weapon. Continuing in the enlarging circles like Gibbs had taught him, he figured that he had to be a good quarter mile from the crime scene by now. While he hunted, he watched the late fall afternoon light filter through the trees. A cold breeze blew, sweeping the leaves around his legs. Hugging his jacket closer to his body, he failed to suppress a shiver.

_Maybe there wasn't a weapon. _

Nearby, a rustle in the leaves commanded his attention. Assuming it to be wildlife, he continued to slowly kick through the foliage. After a few minutes, the rustling turned into distinctly approaching footfalls. Freezing, he closed his eyes and strained to hear the source. Realizing the noisemaker was decidedly human, he unholstered his weapon and hid behind the nearest tree.

Holding his breath, he waited for the person approach. Back against the rough bark of the tree, he peered out to see a male figure clad in navy slowly meander through the woods. Without thinking, McGee launched from his hiding spot. "_Freeze! Federal agent!" _

The man screamed and fell backwards. "Please don't shoot me," he gasped, raising his arms, "_please_."

Instantly recognizing the prone figure, McGee laughed and holstered his weapon. "What are you doing way out here, Palmer?"

Lower his arms, Palmer took McGee's proffered hand and allowed the agent to pull him to his feet. Finally upright, Jimmy gestured to the surrounding woods. "I was heading back to the truck to pick up the gurney. I guess I got a little turned around."

"Yeah, the trucks are back that way," McGee pointed east, opposite from the direction Jimmy came. Face uncertain, Palmer's gaze followed Tim's finger before returning to the agent. "Come on, I'll take you. I don't think I'm going to find the weapon anyway.

"Thanks, McGee," Jimmy grinned, as the pair started off in the direction Tim had pointed. For several minutes, the two walked quietly towards the trucks. The only sound in the forest was the call of birds and occasional rustling of trees in the wind.

Suddenly, Jimmy let out a loud yell and collapsed to the ground. As McGee moved to help him, Palmer grimaced and reached for his right ankle.

"You okay?"

"I think - . I think I just sprained my ankle." Attempting to push weight on his right foot, Jimmy's face contorted in agony. "What did I step on?"

"Just stay down for a second, okay?" McGee ordered, feeling through the leaves where the ME's assistant tumbled. When he touched cold metal, he grinned. "Palmer, you just tripped over the murder weapon."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer : I still own nothing. Santa forgot to deliver the NCIS rights to me this year. Maybe next year!  
**

**Author's note :** _I'd like to thank everyone who has read, followed and favorited this story so far. Extra big thanks to **shywr1ter**, **Megth**, **sopmire**, and **mstictac **for taking the time to leave a review. I truly appreciate the time you've taken to leave me your thoughts and I like seeing what you think! _

_Tried to get the military/some forensics information as correct as possible throughout the story. As always, if I'm wrong please drop me a PM so I can correct. All my military information is pieced together from the internet and a friend who's the spouse of a former Navyman. Even then, it's way more complex than I ever thought possible.  
_

_Hope everyone had a nice holiday.  
_

_Well, let's get on with it.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**5:58pm - Bullpen - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

As he settled back into his desk, DiNozzo jiggled his mouse to wake his computer. The most recent question from his trivia game re-appeared in bright red letters on the screen. '_Who said 'I am big! It's just the pictures that got small?''_

Glancing around the bullpen to confirm the absence of the omnipresent Gibbs, he let out a small puff of relief. The team leader was probably still dropping off the collected evidence with forensic scientist extraordinaire, Abby Scuito. Thankfully, the other two team members were out on a dinner run.

Relishing an uncommon moment of solitude, DiNozzo allowed himself a mental break to finish the question. As he clicked the correct answer, _Norma Desmond, Sunset Boulevard, _he shook his head. _How could he have forgotten a quote from one of his favorite moves?_

Something about the last round of cold cases had knocked him off his game. Though with an actual case to solve, he'd finally remembered the quote and normality had been restored to the world.

Minimizing the game, DiNozzo started a search on missing persons reports through Metro for the last few days. When Gibbs strode into the bullpen with his coffee cup, Tony was still actively reviewing the reports. "You better get McGee to delete that game."

Laughing, DiNozzo exited the minimized game. "Will do, boss."

"Whaddya got, DiNozzo?"

"Just checking missing person's reports from Metro," Tony explained, continuing through the reports. "Here's one, boss. Derek Braun. Petty officer third class. Home on leave. Wife reported him missing this morning. According to the Metro, the wife said he never arrived home last night." Transferring the picture from the missing report, he put the victim's crime scene photo next to it. "Looks like this might be our guy, boss."

Taking a long swig of coffee, Gibbs studied the two pictures. The broad smile of the young man in dress whites from his missing poster contrasted starkly with the lifeless body of the young man in his service khakis. A cursory visual examination of the photos showed a striking resemblance between the two faces. Both young men possessed an oval face, high forehead, and strong jaw. The most notable similarity was the closely cropped, bright red hair.

"Go let Abby know," Gibbs ordered, sinking behind his desk and fiddling with his computer. On his way out of the bullpen, DiNozzo caught the team leader trying to force his machine into submission with a deathglare. Halfway to the elevator, DiNozzo heard the smack his boss laid on the helpless device and flinched out of habit.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**6:21pm - Forensics Lab - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

When DiNozzo hopped off the elevator on Abby's floor, he had to double check the location. Gregorian chants wafted into the hallway from Abby's lab. As he headed into her space, he wondered what caused the drastic change in music for the forensic scientist.

With her back to him, Abby Scuito leaned over her lab table, taking an inventory. On the far side of the table, the evidence box Gibbs had delivered earlier sat untouched. When he approached, DiNozzo realized she was counting an array of different sized Caf-Pow cups that took over the table. Grabbing the smallest one, she spun around and grinned at the senior agent.

"Tony!"

"Hey Abs, what's going on?" Checking out the group of Caf-Pows arranged by size, he didn't really want the explanation.

"Last week, I counted how many Caf-Pows Gibbs brought me for a major case. I went through twenty-two big ones in a week! _Twenty-two! _That's _way _too many. So I decided I'm going to figure out _exactly _how much Caf-Pow it takes to keep me running through a case. Right now, I'm starting with a Mini-Pow," she explained, pulling a long sip of the pint-sized drink until an empty sucking noise echoed through the lab. In one fluid movement, she hurled the tiny cup in the trash and pulled a stop watch out of her lab coat. "My experiment starts _now!" _

"And - ?" Raising a finger, Tony pointed to the air as if questioning the sound waves themselves.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. The lead singer of _Zombified _left the band to join a monastery. While he was there, he made another band with some monks and they recorded a bunch of chants. Pretty awesome, huh?"

"Of course, Abs." When he found both explanations completely reasonable for Abby, Tony wondered if he'd been at NCIS too long. "Any progress on the evidence, yet?"

Shaking her head, she sniffed deeply and turned her focus to the Caf-Pow army standing at attention on her lab table. "I've been a bit busy. Though Ducky just brought me a finger print."

"Ducky?"

"Yeah, Jimmy sprained his ankle. Crutches for a week, maybe two. He can't really carry stuff up to me, so the Duckman has to do it." Grabbing the copy of the fingerprint, she pretended to awkwardly crutch to her lab bench. "But I'm going to run it, right this second."

After he slid next to her, Abby tried to peer around Tony's body to check on her Caf-Pows. Every time she moved her head, he shifted to block her vision and pointed to the computer screen. "I ran a missing persons search, Abs. We think the dead petty officer might be Derek Braun. Can you check for me?"

"No problem-o." Loading the finger print into her computer, DiNozzo watched the finger print appear on the screen. Almost as soon as she clicked on the Armed Forces database, the computer beeped and Braun's service record popped up to confirm the hit. "Looks like you're right, Tony. Derek Braun is down in the Duck Pond."

"Thanks, Abs. Let Gibbs know when you get through the evidence," DiNozzo said, gesturing to the box on the table.

"Wait!" Tony stopped, shooting her a concerned glance. As she hit the stop button on her watch, she reached for Medi-Pow. "Tell Gibbs to bring me a Great-Pow when he comes. _My experiment is over." _

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:02pm - Bullpen - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

As soon as he climbed onto the elevator, DiNozzo caught the lingering scent of deep fried goodness that clung to the air. With his mouth watering, he followed the scent of French fries all the way back to the bullpen.

Pausing by his desk, he hungrily watched his junior agent take a bite of a greasy burger. Their eyes locked and McGee shook his head. Confused, DiNozzo glanced over at Ziva and eyed her burger, unwrapped and untouched. Settling into his desk, he was surprised to find its surface empty. _Had his team mates forgotten about the bacon double cheeseburger he'd requested? _

Across the bullpen, a low cough caught his attention. DiNozzo saw the team leader, leaning against his desk and clutching a white take-out bag. From the large grease stain on the bottom, it appeared McGee brought the onion rings he'd forgotten to request. When Tony's stomach growled loudly, Ziva snickered.

"Whatcha got, DiNozzo?"

"From the fingerprints, Abby confirmed the dead petty officer _is _Derek Braun," Tony grinned, eyes fixed on the bag. When his boss looked at him expectantly, DiNozzo wasn't sure what else the man wanted.

"Abby wants more Caf-Pow?" Watching in slack-jawed horror, Tony froze as the team leader retrieved an onion ring from the bag.

"Autopsy Gremlin sprained his ankle and will be on crutches for a week." As Gibbs munched the onion ring, DiNozzo glanced at the assassin who was unwrapping her dinner. "Ziva and I were just about to interview the wife."

"Get going," Gibbs ordered, mouth full and he tossed the bag to DiNozzo. "McGee, get me some service records for Braun."

Scarfing an onion ring, Tony collected his gear and thought he heard Gibbs mutter something about expense reports and Caf-Pows. Shrugging to Ziva, he started on his burger. When he discovered the extra bacon, he shot McGee a thumbs up and headed out of the bullpen with Ziva trailing behind.

"Tony. Since you are eating, perhaps it would be beneficial for me to drive," she offered, adjusting the strap of her backpack.

As he tapped the call button for the elevator, he laughed heartily. "I don't think so, Zee-vah. I want to give this burger a chance to kill me before you."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:29pm - Bullpen - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

When another crack of fist meeting computer housing erupted, McGee cringed. While the junior agent quietly reviewed Braun's service records, Gibbs attempted to beat his computer into submission.

"Boss?"

"Whatcha got, McGee?" Angry eyes shifted from the computer to the junior agent.

Transferring his information to the plasma screen, Tim rose from his desk with remote in hand. "Petty officer third class Derek Braun. Twenty-seven. Born and raised in Paramus, New Jersey. Graduated magna cum laude from Waverly State, bachelors in computer science. Enlisted in the Navy after getting a master's in computer management from Rutgers in 2002. Did NETC at Norfolk. Volunteered for SECF as a Sonar Technician. Been stationed at Norfolk as an ST ever since." Clicking through a few performance reports, McGee highlighted the scores for Gibbs to view. "Consistently receiving top marks, Braun optioned an additional year of service to secure an accelerated promotion to an E-4. According to his superiors, he was on the fast track for another promotion."

As he watched McGee closely, Gibbs nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." Leaning over, Tim typed furiously on his computer for a few seconds. With a click, a marriage certificate appeared. "Married Laura Boden in 2004. He's spent two tours at sea since the wedding. About thirteen months total." Letting out a low whistle, McGee tried to imagine spending more time away from his spouse than together. Even unattached, he couldn't fathom the idea. Across the bullpen, Gibbs nodded sympathetically to indicate the normalcy of extended tours in daily military life.

"Any criminal records?"

Leaning over again, McGee registered a few strokes on his keyboard. Glancing up, he pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Nothing comes up through Metro until he was reported missing yesterday. There are also no reprimands in his Navy files."

As he settled back into his seat, McGee expanded the search. While he skimmed the reports, Tim tried to ignore the muttered curses erupting from Gibbs. Finally unable to stand the carnage being unleashed on a helpless device, he started, "Boss, if you need help, I could - ."

The offer for technological aid died on his lips as Gibbs reached under his desk and pulled roughly out the desktop. When he dropped it to the floor in the center of the bullpen, the team leader rubbed his hands together and looked purposefully at McGee. "There_. It's fixed_."

"Right, boss."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:43pm - Braun Residence, Chevy Chase, MD - **

As the Dodge Charger pulled up in front of the small, brick colonial, only a few lights illuminated the darkened hours. Shutting the car's engine off, DiNozzo held his hand out to Ziva. "Pass me the last onion ring?"

"It is gone, Tony," she said flatly, opening the passenger door. When he saw the rumpled food bag on the floor, he surmised she'd eaten it en route. With a playful grin, he opened his mouth to make a snide remark and she held up a threatening finger. His retort stopped in his throat.

As soon as he climbed out of the car, the cold air bit through his dress coat causing him to pull it closer. While they walked to the front door, he noticed the darkened forms of lawn gnomes and flamingos resting in the otherwise barren garden. Climbing onto the porch, he pushed the bell and frowned at the small, round sign decorated with flowers that read "The Brauns". Even in the dark, the residents' pride in their home was evident. With a sigh, he remembered just how much he hated this part of the job.

When a hallway light flicked on, DiNozzo could see the entryway's nice furnishings through the front door's glass. A young blonde woman approached and opened the door. Even under the dim porch light, Tony could see the redness that rimmed her eyes. "Can I help you guys?"

DiNozzo and Ziva flashed their badges. "Special Agent Tony DiNozzo," he introduced himself and motioned to the Israeli, "Officer Ziva David, NCIS. Could we come in?"

"No," she started quietly, tears welling to the corner of her eyes. "No, don't tell me you found Derek. Please. Don't tell me. _Please._"

Mutely, Tony nodded and the woman dropped to the floor, head in her hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer :** I still own nothing except all the mistakes. **  
**

**Warning : **_Description of an autopsy, likely nothing worse than we see on the show._

**Author's Note :** _As always, I'd like to thank the readers, followers and favoriters. Extra special thanks to **prince-bishop**, **TriggerHappyJax**, **sopmire**, **gaddzkmp **and **anon **for taking the time to leave me a review. I appreciate your thoughts on the story. _

_Probably the last update for the year, hopefully you guys enjoy it.  
_

_Well, that's enough out of me. Let's get on with it.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**8:15pm - Braun Residence, Chevy Chase, MD -**

Sitting on a plush leather soda, Special Agent Tony DiNozzo looked at the cup of lukewarm coffee in his hands. Beside him, Mossad Liaison Ziva David sipped a cup of tea, pulling absently at the teabag's string. Almost immediately after the news of her husband's death, Laura Braun had asked the agents if they wanted coffee. Despite their protests, she had composed herself enough to rationalize that the simple task would be a distraction. Now seated on the hearth of her fireplace, she dabbed a tissue to her eyes.

"We're sorry for your loss. Are you up to answering a few questions?" DiNozzo started again with the stock NCIS phrases. Glancing to the wedding picture on the wall across the room, Laura bit her trembling lip and nodded. "How long were you and Derek married?"

"It was two years this past August," she sighed. "We met while I was on vacation in Virginia Beach a few years before that."

"When was the last time you saw your husband?"

"Yesterday morning, before I left for work," Laura said, wringing the tissue between her hands. "He said he had to run something to the Navy Yard in DC. I thought he'd be back in a few hours. But when he didn't come home last night, I called the police."

Glancing over the décor of the living room, DiNozzo noted the heavily feminine accents. Numerous paintings of flowers adorned the walls and there were pink candles littered around the room. _What self-respecting man wouldn't want a say in his home?_

Unable to he stop himself, he blurted out. "Would you mind if we looked around a bit?"

Shrugging, Laura nodded and pushed her hair behind her ears. "You can look wherever you like. I'm not sure what you'll find here. Derek was stationed at Norfolk, so he kept an apartment down there. He was here on leave and every other weekend. Only things he left here were clothes and a few books. When he came, he bought his computer. But other than that, everything else should be in Norfolk."

"You were married, but not living together?" Ziva asked, sounding suspicious. "You were happy, yes?"

"It was hard," Laura admitted, tears creeping into her eyes again, "but we made it work. When I graduated from medical school, I applied for pathology residencies in Virginia Beach. Unfortunately, I didn't match so I had to scramble and was lucky that I found an open position in DC. I was just happy to be close. We thought we had our whole lives to be together."

As she nodded, Ziva looked surprisingly sympathetic. "I am sorry, but it is necessary that I ask. Where were you this morning between four and eight this morning?"

"In bed, sleeping. I started at the hospital this morning at 9." When the agents shared a concerned look, Laura sighed heavily. "Yes, I was alone."

Reaching into his suit jacket, DiNozzo pulled out a notepad and made a few notations. When satisfied, Tony turned to Ziva and asked if she had any other questions. She shook her head, signalling they were almost finished. "Do you have anyone you can call tonight? Or do you need us to call someone for you?"

Thoughtful for a few seconds, Laura shook her head. "I'll call my brother. While I'm on the phone, feel free to look wherever you need. I'll get Derek's computer for you guys. Just to warn you, he was very good with computers and _very_ private. I think he liked to encrypt most of his files, so you will have your work cut out for you."

"We have a computer guy. If he can't get into it, no one ever will," DiNozzo stated, rising from the sofa and passing his mug to the victim's wife.

"If you do manage to figure out what was on it, please tell me. I've always wondered what went on inside his head." She smiled wistfully before heading out of the room into the kitchen.

"Shall we separate?" Ziva asked and DiNozzo nodded his assent. If they split up, they'd be able to move faster and not wear out their welcome. "I shall stay down here and you should check the upstairs."

"Right. Watch your six," Tony ordered. Heading back into the front hall, DiNozzo paused and listened to Laura's quiet voice on the phone. After a deep breath, he crept up the stairs. Even though the wife appeared devastated, her answers to the questions had been a bit too perfect. _Almost rehearsed._ When it came to murder and spouses, the senior agent always assumed them to be guilty until proven innocent.

At the top of the stairs, DiNozzo looked in the master bedroom but decided to inspect the additional bedrooms first. The farthest two were completely empty and Tony rolled his eyes at the amount of the space the couple kept unused. Moving into the only other occupied bedroom, he ran through the stark office but found only blank papers and pens in the desk.

Heading back down the hall, he passed into the master bedroom and cringed at the purple paint. When he finally noticed the pink floral bedspread, he fought to suppress a gag. _Did this place scream chick or what? Really, what guy lets a woman decorate like this? _

Quickly, he opened the dresser drawers and pushed through their contents. After gleaning nothing other than Laura was a size 6 and definitely a thong girl, he checked out the closet. Its only contents were scrubs, women's dress clothes, and a few sets of men's clothes. On the floor, one pair of men's shoes sat next to a large pile of women's. Shaking his head, DiNozzo didn't even want to try to count them.

Realizing he was likely out of time, Tony headed out of the master bedroom. Ducking into the bathroom at the top of the stairs, he flushed the toilet and loudly washed his hands. When he finally re-entered the living room, Ziva standing next to Laura.

When the victim's wife shot him a quizzical glance, he grinned sheepishly. "Coffee went right through me. Sorry, I didn't want to bother you while you were on the phone."

Pointing into the hallway, she indicated an open bathroom door. "There's a powder room._ Right there_."

Rolling his eyes at himself, he laughed and Ziva joined him. "Well, I guess I missed it. We appreciate the coffee and your time. Is your brother - ?"

"On his way," she interrupted. "Did you guys still want to look around?"

"I don't think so," he said, glancing to Ziva and she shook her head. "Would you like us to wait with you?"

"I think I should be okay," she sighed, stooping to retrieve a leather laptop bag by her feet. "Here's Derek's computer. Find who did this, please."

After taking the bag, Ziva slung it over her shoulder and squeezed Laura's hand tightly. "We will do our best. We are very sorry for you loss. I am sure your husband deserved better."

As fresh tears sprang from her eyes, Laura led the two agents to the door. Finally back in the cold, Ziva waited until they were safely across the lawn to ask, "did you find anything?"

"Surprisingly, no," Tony shook his head, unlocking the car. "Though if she's right about that computer, McGeek is going to have a field day."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**9:18 pm – Autopsy – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

Perched on a desk chair that he'd pulled from the morgue's office, Autopsy Assistant Jimmy Palmer adjusted the overhead light to illuminate Derek Braun's internal thoracic cavity. With a gentle tug, Dr. Donald Mallard removed the lungs from the corpse and dropped them onto a scale. As the doctor examined the quality of the tissue, Palmer noted the weight and dark color.

"What does this colorization show, Mr. Palmer?" Mallard queried, looking at the assistant over his glasses.

"Likely a smoker, doctor," Jimmy answered, not glancing up from his report.

"You're correct, Mr. Palmer. A heavy one, at that. Now, did you know that John Rolfe is credited with being the first European settler to cultivate the plant on American soil using a Bermudan seed? Ah, _Nicotiana tabacum_. Brown gold, my dear boy. Though it seems like you are well acquainted with the plant." Raising his eyebrows, it took Jimmy a few seconds to realize that Mallard had turned his attention from his assistant to the corpse. "It's funny to think that - ."

Behind him, Palmer heard the _whoosh _of the autopsy doors. Swinging his chair around, Jimmy tried to swallow the pit that formed in his stomach when he saw Agent Gibbs.

"Why, hello Jethro!" As the team leader approached, Mallard's smiled, his eyes crinkling above his mask.

Anxiously looking for his crutches, Jimmy's heart sank when he saw them on the opposite side of the room. When Gibbs peered over his shoulder, Palmer held his breath and didn't dare move. "Whaddya got, Duck?"

Gesturing to the set of lungs he held, Mallard carefully placed them back in the corpse. "Well, our petty officer was quite a smoker. He - ."

Unable to stop himself, Jimmy nervously interjected. "But it didn't get a chance to kill him." Suddenly realizing his mistake, he closed his eyes. The autopsy assistant didn't want to see the way Gibbs would add his body to the autopsy freezer. No untimely end came to Jimmy.

Still keeping his eyes closed, he listened to Mallard continue his report. "As you can see, Jethro, there are no defensive wounds on the young man's hands. Likely, he had no opportunity to fight back or he knew his attacker." Pointing to an abrasion on the right side of the corpse's face, the doctor then pointed to a bullet hole in the center of the forehead. Hazarding a glance at Gibbs, Palmer let out a quiet sigh of relief when he realized the terrifying agent was actively listening to Mallard.

"There is a pre-mortem contusion on the right side of the face. Trajectory indicates Braun was struck while he was kneeling in a left to right direction. I believe the killer is left handed. Cause of death was the gunshot." Holding up an evidence jar, Ducky showed Gibbs the mangled bullet they'd removed from Braun's skull earlier in the evening. Looking sympathetically at Braun's face, Mallard appeared troubled. "The poor boy _was_ executed, Jethro."

Nodding, Gibbs looked at the corpse on the table. "Anything else, Duck?"

"Only that the pooling of the blood on the back of the victim's head indicates that he was not moved after being shot. I found a few black fibers and a short blonde hair on his face. There is also hair that appears to be from the dog that found him. I just need to run them up to Abby for analysis," Mallard continued, pulling off his gown and depositing it in the biohazard bin.

As the doctor gathered his evidence, Gibbs glared at Palmer expectantly. Trying to ignore the agent who was mere inches from his face, Jimmy continued to finish his autopsy notes. Not bothering to blink, the team leader took a slow sip of his coffee as Palmer tried to figure out how far he could run a sprained ankle. _Did it really matter if he did any further damage to the joint if he escaped Gibbs?  
_

"Come on, Jethro. Maybe it would be nice for both of us to visit Abigail. I'll fill you in on the exciting history of American tobacco on the way," Mallard called out on his way to the door.

Feeling the agent's angry breath on his face as he moved away, Palmer kept his eyes riveted on paperwork. It wasn't until he heard the autopsy doors close that he started breathing again. As the tension left him, he leaned forward on the table to rest on his elbows. The sudden movement rolled his chair violently backwards and he crashed to the floor.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**9:45pm - Bullpen - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

Trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, Special Agent Timothy McGee started another search for any information about the projects that Braun worked on at Norfolk. Frustrated at the lack of details, he let an annoyed exhalation escape his lips.

Knowing full well that the only reason he didn't have answers was a lack of clearance, he bit his lip and debated about hacking the firewalls protecting Braun's work computer. Even though the director had told,- _well, ordered_, - him to stop "inappropriately accessing" databases, he still wanted to check. _Still needed to check._

At the moment, the bullpen was empty and the office had nearly cleared out for the night. The overhead lights were set to drop to their nighttime levels sometime in the next few minutes. When that happened it would decrease the chance that anyone would catch him, hunched over his desk and hacking into the night.

Popping up out of his desk chair, he quickly scanned the floor for Gibbs. Despite the team leader's desire for results, McGee still preferred to hide his nefarious enterprises from his boss. The only rule Gibbs had for running down information was quickly becoming McGee's personal rule number one - _"Don't get caught." _As soon as he dropped back into his desk chair, McGee started to ping the IP address of Braun's work computer for a remote access.

When he'd finally relaxed, the elevator dinged, signalling a new arrival. Panicking, the junior agent closed out the connection. He quickly shut off his monitor and pushed the keyboard away. Shifting papers around, he was organizing his desk by the time Tony and Ziva entered the bullpen. As they headed to their desks, McGee noticed that Ziva was carrying a laptop bag. Nodding them a greeting, he started counting the pens in his cup.

"What are you up to over there, McSquirrely?" DiNozzo asked, leaning over his desk to check on the junior agent's spastic movements.

"N-n-n-nothing, Tony. Just organizing. I never get a chance to _really organize._" Across the bullpen, he heard the senior agent let out a snort and assumed he was rolling his eyes as well. "What do you have there, Ziva?"

"According to his wife, Braun was very interested in computers. She said his laptop has many crypts and would have a difficult excess." Eyes wide with excitement, McGee grinned broadly.

"Encrypted. The files are encrypted and difficult to access. It has nothing to do with the computer. As long as it's not password protected, the hard drive and memory should be accessible. The trick will be decrypting the files and getting to their information." As McGee spoke excitedly, he missed the questioning gaze the other agents shared. By the time he finished, DiNozzo appeared confused. "Can I see it?"

Just as he started to stand up, Gibbs strode into the bullpen and headed to his still computer-less desk. "Tomorrow, McGee. Go home and get some sleep. Need you three back here at 0700. Find anything out from Braun's wife?"

"Not much, boss," DiNozzo admitted, looking to the team leader. "They lived apart. House is full of her stuff. He worked out of Norfolk and kept an apartment there while he was active, but she maintained they were happy. When he was murdered, she was home sleeping. _Alone. _She _did _give us his computer to go through." While he talked, McGee and Ziva began to collect their gear so they could make their escape for the night.

Nodding, Gibbs took a piece of paper out of the top drawer of his desk and started taking notes. "Alright, DiNozzo. You and Ziva are going to Norfolk tomorrow."

Surprisingly, Ziva was the first to leave with DiNozzo running out a close second. Handing behind, McGee pretended to rummage in his desk until the other two were gone. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he slowly approached Gibbs' desk. The team leader was engrossed in his notations and the junior agent cleared his throat to grab his boss' attention.

Blue eyes burning, the team leader glanced up. "What, McGee?"

Nervously, the junior agent loosened his tie and gestured towards Ziva's desk with his head. "Boss, can I - ?"

"No, you can't take the computer with you. _Go home._ _Now!_"

With that prompt, McGee scurried out of the bullpen and towards the bus stop.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer :** If you recognize it, I still don't own it. **  
**

**Warnings : **_All my information about computers came from Wikipedia. If it's inaccurate, accept my apologies. _

**Author's Note : **_Thanks to everyone who's been reading, favoriting and following. Huge thanks to **Megth **and **Long Live BRUCAS **__for taking the time to leave reviews. I appreciate your thoughts!_

_Got snowed in yesterday so I managed to have some time to get another chapter up before New Year's.  
_

_Let's get on with it.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Wednesday, November 15, 2006 - 6:49am - Bullpen - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

As the elevator climbed to the bullpen's floor, Tony DiNozzo clutched a no-foam skinny latte in one hand and a bearclaw in the other. While he inhaled the pastry, he tried not to think about the looming four hour road trip with Ziva. After she tried her hand at vehicular manslaughter yesterday, he wasn't looking forward to more quality time with her behind the wheel.

Part of him wondered why Gibbs couldn't just trust the NCIS agents at Norfolk to interview Braun's commanding officer and unit for them. Well, there also was that apartment that needed to be searched. Sighing, he chewed the last of his breakfast and hopped off the elevator as the doors slid open.

Settling into his desk, DiNozzo felt a sense of dread spread through his gut. When he saw the Mossad liaison already at her desk, he realized the source. Grinning at his arrival, she clasped her hands in front of her. "Good morning, Tony. Are you ready for our car ride?"

Realizing an eight hour drive would be difficult for him, he shivered at the prospect of her driving.

"Morning, Ziva," he smiled tightly. "Can't wait. Think we should hit the road?"

_Maybe that bearclaw had been a bad idea_.

"In a few minutes. I need to transfer the computer to McGee or Abby. I do not know why she sent me an e-mail about a concert in the middle of the night, but I am not believe she will arrive this early. So we shall wait for McGee."

With a nod, he fired up his computer and launched his movie quote game. He was going to enjoy it before McGee uninstalled it.

_Where was the line 'Round up the usual suspects' first used? _Glancing through the choices, he scoffed and clicked _Casablanca. _Of course, he was right. Did McGee install the easy version of the game?

_'It's alive. It's alive.' _Yearning for a real challenge, he clicked on the answer _Dr. Frankenstein, 1931, Frankenstein._

_'A boy's best friend is his mother._' Tony made a face and chose _Norman Bates, 1960, Psycho_.

_'Snap out of it.' _Resting his chin on his hand, DiNozzo racked his brain for the answer. With all the movies he'd seen, he had to know this one. _Hadn't he just watched this movie a few nights ago?_

"Snap out of it." Frustrated, he swore that he could even hear the character saying the phrase. Out of nowhere, the answer materialized in his head and snapped his fingers.

"_Linda Castorini, 1987, Moonstruck._" Finally feeling two sets of eyes on him, DiNozzo looked up at his teammate and grinned sheepishly. Ziva glanced to McGee, clearly perplexed.

"Movie quote game?" McGee laughed as Tony nodded. "Glad you're enjoying it. You know Gibbs told me to uninstall it, right?"

"Not right now, Probie. I'm _so close_ to beating my record," DiNozzo pleaded. Not responding, McGee carried the laptop bag to his desk and Tony knew he'd bought himself more time. "Think we should head out, Zee-vah?"

Already prepared to leave, Ziva was at attention in front of Tony's desk before he'd even reached into his drawers for his gear.

_ "Well, that was fast."_ Fumbling through his drawers, he grabbed his gun, badge and backpack. Across the bullpen, the junior agent was rooting through the laptop bag. When McGee let out a low whistle, DiNozzo figured the computer geek found something he liked. "Have fun, Probster. Call us if you find anything."

Excited eyes riveted on his prize he was pulling out of the bag, McGee distractedly waved them goodbye. _The McGeek looks l__ike a kid on Christmas. _As DiNozzo led the way to the elevators, Ziva adjusted her bag strap and smoothed her shirt.

"Perhaps I should drive today, Tony, yes?"

"We'll do shifts. You can take the first one," the senior field agent offered, hitting the elevator call button.

Checking her watch, Ziva made a face. "But then I will drive in traffic."

When the elevator doors opened, Tony grinned at the Israeli. "Yeah. That's kinda the point."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**8:12am – Bullpen - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

Letting out an agitated exhalation, McGee stretched his arms above his head and listened to his back crack. When he'd first seen the victim's choice of an IBM ThinkPad, he'd been smug and excited. He had figured he'd have the machine accessed before Gibbs even arrived.

Though now, he realized his first mistake was underestimating Derek Braun. Just attempting to bypass the password interface into the operating system was proving to be a challenge. Even though McGee knew he'd never be bested by another's mind, his success would not come easy.

Sliding the laptop off to the side, he launched a password cracking program on his desktop. Hooking the laptop to his desktop via a USB cable, he was glad that he hadn't erased his program at the end of their last case. While he watched it run, he settled back into his chair. The numbers and letters scrolled quickly across the screen, making the computer geek restless. In search of a distraction, he opened his top drawer and started arranging his pens based on the color spectrum. _Now was it ROYGBIV or ROYGVIB? _

The sound of a cough brought his attention upwards. Grinning awkwardly at Gibbs, Tim had no words.

"Need more work, McGee?" Marching to his desk, the team leader swigged his coffee. McGee slammed the desk drawer closed and made a face.

"N-n-n-no, b-boss. I'm attempting to bypass the Pre-Boot Authentication so I can access Braun's computer." Gesturing to the computers, he smiled tensely.

Gibbs gave a disinterested half-nod. "DiNozzo and Ziva?"

"Left about an hour ago." While Gibbs started to review a report on his desk, McGee's attention turned back to the laptop. The screen blinked with a string of numbers, indicating that access to the operating system granted had been granted. The computer geek smiled when he recognized the GNOME interface. Even though he'd been forced to conform to Microsoft since his MIT days, Tim always had a soft spot for Linux.

Feeling a huge amount of respect for the deceased, the junior agent allowed the computer to complete its boot process. Finally able to access data, McGee opened the most recent file. When it materialized in a jumbled mess, he shook his head and checked a few others. Within seconds, the screen was littered unreadable documents. _All the darn files he'd chosen were e__ncrypted. _

"Uh oh."

Glancing over his reading glasses, Gibbs fixed his eyes on the junior agent. "What's uh oh, McGee?"

"Well, good news is that I got through the Pre-Boot Authentication. Bad news is everything on the computer is encrypted." The junior agent paused, running system specs and trying to ignore the glare boring through him. "More bad news. It's the disk that's encrypted, not the files. Looks like Braun installed a trusted platform module on his mainframe. I - ."

"English, McGee?"

"Uh - . I'm in, but I can't read anything. All the files are in a different language. If it didn't have a TPM, I might be able to hook the hard disk to another machine. But I – ." His tirade was cut short by a harsh cough from Gibbs. With a quiet sigh, the junior agent retrieve a few cables from his desk. Stuffing them into the pocket of his brown sports coat, he scooped up the laptop.

"I'll be in Abby's lab, if you need me."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**11:42am – Norfolk Naval Base, Norfolk, VA –**

On the way back to the Charger, DiNozzo pulled the keys out of his pocket, tossing them to Ziva. After the initial surprise wore off, she grinned. Laughing, Tony realized she didn't know they were only going to the other side of the base. As she unlocked the car, Ziva glanced at DiNozzo over the roof. "Well, this was a blast, yes?"

It took DiNozzo several long seconds to figure out what she meant. "Bust, Ziva. A blast is fun, a bust is bad."

"I thought that we busted criminals. So a bust would be good, yes?" Figuring she had a point, Tony decided it wasn't worth trying to correct her. Somehow, she'd manage to confuse him. As something else passed through his mind, he didn't want to explain to _that_ woman another time a bust was a good thing.

Despite Ziva's nearly mastering a new idiom, there was no denying their trip to Norfolk could be described as a bust. The first interview, Braun's commanding officer, had yielded absolutely no information about the victim. Regrettably, the officer had spent the entire interview obsessively checking his email. When he finally deemed the attempt pointless, DiNozzo had concluded their discussion, opting to speak with someone better acquainted with the victim. As per the captain's suggestion, they'd chosen the executive officer.

As Ziva maneuvered the car around the base, Tony directed her towards a nondescript, brick building flanked by several larger ones. Pulling the car into a parking space and shutting off the engine, she followed DiNozzo into the soulless structure. Moving into the windowless lobby, DiNozzo checked the registry for Lieutenant Commander Jack Whitley's office location.

Leading Ziva down a hallway looked like it hadn't been renovated since the late 70s, DiNozzo swallowed his comment about shag carpet. When the arrived at an empty secretary's desk in front of an open door, Tony figured they were in the right place. Knocking on the door, DiNozzo snickered at a picture of a morbidly obese cat on the secretary's desk.

"Come in," a male voice called from inside the office. Opening the door, the agents pulled out their IDs and flashed them to the short officer who stood behind his desk. As he tried to look past them towards his assistant, he appeared annoyed. "I guess Pamela must be at lunch. How can I help you?"

"LCDR Whitley?" The dark-haired officer nodded. "NCIS Special Agent Tony DiNozzo and Mossad Liaison Ziva David," the senior agent gestured to himself, then the Israeli. "We have a few questions regarding Petty Officer Braun. Captain Schmitt said that you would know him a bit better."

Rolling his eyes, Whitley shot DiNozzo a knowing smile and cocked his head. "Yeah, Schmitt _would_ say that. Braun? What'd he do?"

"He didn't _do_ anything. We found him murdered yesterday morning," Tony offered flatly as Ziva moved across the room. Even though she appeared to be loitering by the disco-era bookshelf, she was actively inspecting its contents.

"Murdered? Braun? Derek?_ Really?_" Shaking his head, the stocky lieutenant commander slid into his chair. With a dejected look, he ran a hand over his face. "What a _damn shame._ That kid was bright. Had a whole lot of potential with us here. _What a G-d damn shame._"

"Can you tell us what he was working on?" Ziva asked, sliding past the desk to examine the trinkets on the window sill.

"Nothing exciting really. On the boat, he's a ping jockey. Keeps track of our equipment while we're under water. When we're on land, he's usually completing additional training and tweaking our equipment to keep it top-notch. Right now, he's in the middle of a two week leave since we're shipping out next week. Well, he's supposed to be on leave." Pressing his lips together, Whitley's frowned deepened the creases on his forehead. "_What a damn shame._ How's his wife?"

"Taking it about as hard as you'd expect," Tony said, ignoring Ziva as she appeared by his side. "Did he have any issues with anyone in the unit?"

"Not at all. Braun was popular with the men. Nice, respectful, but _extremely_ reserved. Almost bordering on secretive. Never spoke of his personal life, aside from the few times he mentioned his wife. I believe he was an only child and I think his parents are dead. But that was from his file, not what he told me." Closing his eyes, the officer tried to grasp some lost detail. "That's really it."

"Did he have any friends in his unit?" Ziva questioned, crossing her arms.

"There was another sonar technician that Braun seemed to be _friendly_ with. Not sure if they were what you would call friends though," the officer shrugged, "the seaman is on leave, as well."

"We need a name and address." Pulling his notepad out of his suit jacket, DiNozzo copied down the information when Whitley relayed it off the computer. "Is there anything else you can think of, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Well, we did have an intrusion attempt on Braun's work computer last night. It was brought to my attention early morning and our tech guys are trying to figure out the source." When the senior field agent's eyes met Whitley's Tony knew instantly where the attack originated. _So that explains why the McGeek was acting weirder than usual last night. _

With a polite smile, DiNozzo extended his hand to Whitley. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, if I were you. Thanks for your help, lieutenant commander."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**12:04pm – Forensics Lab – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

Head bopping in time with the industrial goth rock that pulsed through the lab, McGee attempted to find a decryption code for the laptop. When a chain saw started in the song, the junior agent smiles and launched his latest choice of program. While it churned away, he leaned onto the lab bench. Somewhere across the lab gunshots rang out, perfectly in time with the music. Behind him, some machine pleaded for attention. Abby rushed over, pushing a pair of protective earphones around her neck and setting the weapon by Tim's arm.

"Hm," she murmured, thinking out loud, "that's weird."

"What's weird, Abby?"

Chewing her bottom lip, she turned to McGee. The look on her face told him that she had forgotten he was even there. "The fibers Ducky pulled off Braun's body are fabric from a car trunk. A Ford Taurus after 2002. A dark colored one, to be exact."

With a distracted nod, McGee turned his attention to the laptop. "Makes sense. Whoever killed him, probably took him to the park in a car trunk."

"Of course _that_ makes sense, Timmy. What's weird is that I can't find my CafPow. I could have sworn I left it next to Barclay." Motioning to the computer hooked up to the laptop, she glanced wide-eyed around the room. "Gibbs _just _brought me one."

"Barclay? Who's Barclay?" McGee raised an eyebrow at Abby.

"The computer. After we unleashed that virus on Amelia during the Douglas case, she never was the same. So the director let me replace her with Barclay. He's not quite as good as she was, but he'll do." Leaning over McGee's arm, Abby tried to discern the active program. Unable to ignore the scent of her strawberry lotion, his heart raced. "How's cracking into Braun's laptop going?"

The program flashed and closed out. With yet another failure, he let out a resigned sigh. "Not well. This guy _was really _good."

Wrapping her arm around McGee's shoulders, Abby grinned broadly. "Yeah, but you're _better_." When he looked at her incredulously, she punched his arm a little too hard. "Well, as my Uncle Jimbo used to say. 'If you can't go in, go around. Then go in.' "

As he wondered what she mean, McGee watched Abby retreat to the other side of the lab. When she became preoccupied with a microscope, likely comparing bullets for ballistics, the computer geek reached behind the laptop and retrieved the missing CafPow. Taking a deep sip, McGee let the cold, fruity liquid slide over his tongue. Swallowing, his brain began to turn. _It seemed to be helping him think, maybe that explained why Abby drank so many of them. _

While an idea materialized in his head, McGee's face progressively lit up into a smile. Shaking his head at his own intelligence, he had forgotten the role brute force could play in retrieving information. Sometimes he believed computers to be such an art that tried to avoid the plebeian way of achieving his goals.

_But it was so simple. _

All he had to was cold-boot the computer. With a hard reset, he'd be able to transfer the encryption code to a portable drive before the hard drive was re-encrypted at start up. _Why hadn't he thought of it before?_

Unwilling to acknowledge that his inspiration was named Jimbo, McGee sipped the stolen CafPow and started to set up for the procedure.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**1:32pm – Braun's Off-Base Apartment – Norfolk, VA –**

Panting loudly, DiNozzo trailed several steps behind Ziva and Derek Braun's building supervisor. As they climbed the stairs to the third floor apartment, Tony unbuttoned his dress coat and tried to wipe the sweat from his back. The unregulated heat in the building was turned dangerously high and the trio seemed to be following it upward. When they finally exited the stairwell, DiNozzo thankfully inhaled the cooler air and headed down the grimy hallway.

"This is it," the super announced, unlocking the door to apartment 307. When finished, he bowed and shot Ziva a gap-toothed grin. Licking his lips suggestively at the Israeli, the super breathed loudly and Tony gagged at the scent of alcohol that wafted off his breath. Smiling politely, she pulled back her jacket to reveal her weapon. With a lascivious grin, he retreated towards the stairwell. "If you _want _me, you know where _you _can find me!"

"Charming guy," Tony commented sarcastically.

As they entered the apartment, DiNozzo reflected on just how little they'd gleaned during their trip. Most of Braun's unit was on leave, though the victim wasn't close to any of them. Unfortunately, the only seaman friendly with Braun was visiting family in Missouri. When he'd last checked in with Gibbs, Tony could hear the anger laced in the team leader's voice. The only positive of the conversation was that Gibbs had decided to call the seaman personally. It allowed Ziva and Tony to focus on clearing his apartment, hopefully turning up some sort of lead.

Sliding into the apartment, Tony was surprised at its barrenness. Most of its space encompasses a small living area with a kitchenette taking up most of the right wall. There was a door, leading to a miniscule bedroom on the left. Directly adjacent to the entrance, there was a minute bathroom.

"Talk about a tight space," DiNozzo quipped.

Glancing around, Ziva shrugged. "It is functional."

As they searched the apartment, Tony paused by a bookshelf on the far side of the living area. Overflowing with nonfiction books, Braun's varied collection included subjects from computer programming to Navy history to the American Revolution. Directly above the shelf, a picture of Braun and Laura's wedding day sat on a window sill. Frowning, DiNozzo watched traffic pass for a few seconds. _There had to be something they were missing. _

"Shall we split up?" the Israeli asked, disrupting Tony's thoughts. With a shrug, DiNozzo pulled on a pair of gloves and strode into the bedroom. He shook his head at the lack of furniture and opened the dresser first, dumping the drawers' contents on the floor. When he found nothing but clothes, he pushed them to the side in frustration.

In the living area, he heard the scraping of heavy furniture against the carpet. _Was Ziva trying to move the sofa by herself? There was no way. Or could she really do it? _

Not wanting to know any more of her hidden talents, he moved to the closet and clenched his teeth when he discovered only uniforms and dress shoes. Trying to quash his rising frustration, he stripped the bed and turned up only pristine white sheets. He flipped the mattress, still coming up empty. As he dropped to his knees to check under the bed, he found himself hoping something was indeed there.

_He didn't want to be the one to call Gibbs and tell him they'd found nothing. Maybe Ziva could do it?  
_

His face broke into a wide grin when he saw it. Just out of arm's reach, there was a black strong box covered in dust. Flattening himself against the carpet, he stretched as far as he could and fished it out. "Gotcha."

"Tony? Have you uncovered something?" Ziva asked, her feet suddenly appearing by his arm. When his head collided with the box spring, Tony yelped. Pulling the box out, he rubbed the back of his head.

Nodding, he pointed to the lockbox. "You?"

"No, I uncovered beer and old Chinese food in the refrigerator. There are many takeout menus and no pots to cook," she reported, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "There is nothing in the bathroom aside from his products and I do not believe Braun ever cleaned under his couch." Cringing, she glanced back into the living room. "What have you uncovered?"

"Discovered, Ziva. I found this under the bed." Scrutinizing its exterior for a few seconds, DiNozzo ran a gloved hand over the black metal. Instead of a lock, there was a keypad in the center of the lid. Despite its apparent age, Braun hadn't used it enough to leave any marks on the passcode's numbers.

"I have an idea," Ziva stated, disappearing out the door. Before DiNozzo could call after her, she reappeared holding a container of talcum power. Kneeling next to him, she sprinkled some on the keypad and quickly blew it off. The dust clung to the 1, 7, 9 so Tony tried the petty officer's birthdate, _9 – 1 - 79. _Beeping quietly, the box indicated a failed login attempt. As he placed the box on the floor, DiNozzo readied to try another combination.

Ziva suddenly sprang to her feet and levied a vicious kick to the box that sent it slamming into the wall. Slack-jawed at the foot that narrowly missed his hand, Tony glanced up angrily.

_"Ziva, what the hell?"  
_

Ignoring him, she moved away and crouched next to the box. From his spot on the floor, Tony couldn't help but let his eyes linger over her perfectly-filled out cargos. _Maybe he should be stay here. _

"It is open," she announced, looking back to him. Instantly, his eyes were inspecting the cobwebs on the ceiling.

"Great," DiNozzo laughed, climbing to his feet and joining Ziva across the room. "Now, let's see what Braun was hiding." Crouching next to the assassin, he felt her eye him suspiciously. Opening the box, he pulled out a checkbook and passport. Tossing them aside, he pulled out a few baseball cards and a large brown envelope. He opened it and shook the contents to the carpeted floor.

Several brown, aged pieces of paper fluttered out. As DiNozzo picked up one of the pieces of paper, he could see its apparent age in the tanned, thick stock. A quick glance at its outline revealed it to be a letter.

When he read the date, Tony's eyes went wide.

_July 1, 1776. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer :** _Nope, still don't own anything but NCIS seasons 1 - 5 on DVD. _

**Author's note :** _T__hanks to everyone who's read, followed, and favorited this story so far. __Big thanks to **Long Live BRUCAS **and **MissCallaLilly **__for leaving me a review. I appreciate the time you took to leave your thoughts. _

_I re-edited the first chapters of the story so they flow better. There's no changes to any information for the story so far, so no need to read them again.  
_

_Happy 2013, everyone.  
_

_Let's get on with it.  
_

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**3:22pm – Bullpen – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

Dropping the phone onto the receiver, Gibbs emitted a frustrated growl. The conversation he'd just finished with Seaman Mark Fisher had proven less than helpful. From the half hour he'd spent on the phone, he'd only learned that Braun desperately wanted to have children with Laura. Fisher had only managed to confirm their victim's secretive nature.

Shaking his head, Gibbs left his desk and headed to retrieve a CafPow he'd stashed in the staff lounge's refrigerator earlier in the day. With the latest budget cuts, Director Shepard had started scrutinizing his team's expense reports. Her latest concerns were Tony's expensive food runs and his cafeteria purchases, namely the Caf-Pows. To get Jenny off his back, he'd _suggested _to the cafeteria staff that they allow him to purchase the drinks in bulk for a discount. After a little persuasion, the cashiers had eventually agreed with him.

While he stalked to the elevator, Gibbs listened to the cup's contents slosh around. Hours after he'd purchased the dreadful drink, the ice was somehow miraculously still intact. Part of him wondered what prevented it from melting. As he answered his ringing phone, the ice clinked again and he made a face at the cup.

"Gibbs."

"Hey, boss." Tony's voice came on the line.

"Braun got anything at his place, DiNozzo?" When he pushed the elevator call button, a few drops of CafPow escaped the lid and dripped on his hands. Before it had a chance to dissolve his skin, he wiped it on his sleeve. _What was this stuff made of?  
_

"Not much, boss." DiNozzo laughed coolly. "There were some books, clothes and old Chinese food. Pretty much a bachelor's hideaway from the wife."

The elevator arrived and Gibbs stuck his foot in the door, holding it open. At the delay, its occupant glanced up angrily from the file he reviewed. When he saw Gibbs, the agent from upstairs cringed and averted his eyes.

"Find anything that helps our investigation, DiNozzo?"

"Actually, I'm not sure. We found a stack of old letters and a family tree in a lock box." In the background, the team leader heard squealing tires and Ziva yelling some sort of gibberish. "Gotta go, boss. We'll be back. _I hope." _

Climbing into the elevator, Gibbs slid next to the other agent. During the ride, he silently stared at the side of the man's head, taking slight pleasure in watching him try not to squirm. On Abby's floor, he hopped out and headed towards her lab, wondering who decided chainsaws were music. A few gunshots echoed through the hallway and Gibbs felt confused, knowing Abby should have checked ballistics hours ago. When he found her at the lab bench, he realized the violent noises were incorporated into the song.

"Whaddya go - ?" Gibbs did a double take when he noticed Tim McGee, standing on the other side of the glass doors in the inner part of Abby's lab. Smiling sheepishly, the junior agent waved to his boss and pointed to the door. "What's McGee doing in 'inner sanctum'?"

"This morning he stole my CafPow." She looked accusingly towards inner sanctum. "_I had to buy my own, Gibbs. _I never buy my own CafPow. _Never. _So until he learns to behave, McGee's locked in my office."

A knocking on the glass door interrupted them. Leaning past the lab table, Gibbs watched McGee wave again. When Gibbs shook the CafPow, his youngest agent blushed fiercely and disappeared from the door.

"Whaddya got, Abs?"

"A CafPow thief, Gibbs." When Gibbs' look told her to move on, Abby stepped in front of her computer and brought up a picture of a fiber. "Well, finger print and DNA analysis confirm that Derek Braun _is_ our murder victim. This fiber from Braun's uniform is from a Ford Taurus after 2002, specifically it's a trunk fiber. You see, they specially add chem - ." To catch her attention, Gibbs held out the CafPow and she reached for it. Gesturing towards the computer with his head, he slid the drink away from her grasp.

Instead, she retrieved the gun off the lab bench. "Checked ballistics. This Glock 30 subcompact is definitely the murder weapon. Though it's untraceable since the serial number was filed off. The round is a 0.45 ACP. From the swabs Ducky took of the skin around the bullet wound, there's powder on Braun's forehead indicating that he was shot at point blank range."

Nodding, Gibbs glanced over to her computer monitor that showed an active finger print search. "Oh yeah, I lifted a partial print from the clip. I'm running it through AFIS and the Metro Database. It's going to take a while."

"Good work, Abs." Before she grabbed the CafPow from Gibbs' hand, her lips were already wrapped around the straw. Watching the red liquid glide through the straw, the team leader made a face and contemplated how it hadn't corroded her internal organs yet. A knocking sounded from the glass door again and Gibbs pulled the drink back. "Now let McGee out."

Jutting her bottom lip out, Abby looked at Gibbs pitifully and he shook his head. She sighed, grabbing a remote from underneath some pipet tips and smashing a button.

"Rewired my lab," she grinned, teeth stained red from the toxic liquid. With a quiet hissing noise, the door to her office slid open. Shooting back them, McGee was nothing but a blur as he sprinted out of the lab, carrying the laptop.

"Hi boss, got something, see you upstairs! Bye Abby!" Flying past them, McGee was only a blur as he sprinted out of the lab with the laptop. _Had the kid even breathed? _

When he glanced back to the forensic scientist, she was busy draining her prize. "Guess he shouldn't have finished my CafPow," she shrugged, grinning at the team leader again.

As he backed out of the lab, Gibbs ran a hand over his face.

_Just what the hell was in that stuff? _

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**3:41pm – Somewhere on 95, Heading towards NCIS –**

As the Charger quickly changed lanes, DiNozzo braced himself against the passenger door. In his hand, he clutched the letter in the evidence bag tighter. Ignoring the squealing tires and frequent Hebrew curses, the senior agent continued to read the documents recovered from the strong box.

With every review of the pages, DiNozzo had to wonder what they were missing. In total, they had recovered six letters dated from July 1, 1776 to Decemeber 21, 1778. All the letters originated from the same address in Philadelphia, but had a different destination. At the bottom of each one in careful script, they were signed by someone named Samuel Culper.

When he reached the end of the last letter, DiNozzo started at the first one again and tried to make sense of the content. Even though they only appeared to be united by their author, something told the senior field agent they had to share another common thread, hopefully to their case. Why else would the victim hide them in a lockbox in his otherwise barren apartment?

As Ziva jerked the Charger onto the shoulder of an off-ramp, Tony steadied himself against the door again. When she trounced the gas and darted into the passing lane, DiNozzo pitched dangerously to the left. When his eyes landed on the flowing script, the car rocked and his stomach flipped. _Maybe this was not the place to read these things. _

"Do the letters contain any information?" Flying past a truck in the wrong lane, she glanced to Tony and he emphatically pointed at the road. Anger flashed over her face and she looked back at the highway. As she cut off another car, DiNozzo caught the other driver's shocked face in the side view mirror.

"Not really. They're all from the same guy, but he really doesn't talk about anything. One's about sheep from Virginia and their path to New York. There's another about his new waistcoat, the material that it was made out of and how much he loves his tailor. Let's not forget about the one where he's buying ale for a par - ." As she pulled her eyes off the road to face Tony, the Charger veered into the passing lane and nearly sideswiped a Honda. "_Ziva! Watch the road!" _

With an annoyed sigh, she glanced back at the highway and flipped off a Toyota. "Why would Braun keep those letters in his safe?"

Shrugging, Tony dropped the pages into his lap. There were a lot more questions he'd ask before that one. First, why would Braun even possess the letters? Second, who the hell was Samuel Culper? Third, was any of this even related to their murder? Maybe fourth, he'd ask why Braun bothered to keep the letters in his safe. As far as he could tell, there was nothing of consequence within the words of the aged pages. _Sheep, waistcoats, party food? Really, who cared about this stuff 250 years later?_

"Tony," Ziva started, pausing to mutter a curse. "In what years were the letters written?"

Flipping through the pages, DiNozzo replied. "Two from 1776, three from 1777 and one from 1778."

"That was during the war for American independence, yes?" Hitting the brakes, she deftly switched lanes and cut off a Nissan. The blaring car horn made Tony cringe.

"Yeah. The Revolutionary War. Started in 1776 with the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Lasted until – uh, 1781, I think. Or was it 1782? I don't remember exactly." Ziva chuckled quietly and DiNozzo made a face at her. "_But that's not important._ I just don't get why Braun has nothing in his apartment, but these letters. How are _they_ important? Come on, this one," he held up one of the letters and shook it, "talks about sheep. _Sheep, Ziva. Sheep." _

"Perhaps it is not what the letters say, but perhaps it is what they mean?" When Tony raised his eyebrows at the assassin, Ziva took her hand off the wheel and gestured distractedly. "Code, Tony. Perhap it is possible the letters are an old code?"

Nodding, DiNozzo considered her suggestion. There was a chance the letters could be written in code, but they were over two hundred years old, meaning it would be irrelevant today. Since they were among Braun's few possession, Tony figured they must contain at least some value to the victim. Though Tony wasn't entirely convinced they were relevant to their current investigation.

When another car horn blared at the Charger, Tony shifted in his seat, readying to review the letters again. Even motion sickness was better than focusing on Ziva's vehicular mayhem.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**4:04pm – Bullpen - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

Slinking out of the stairwell, Gibbs carried a coffee from his detour to the cafeteria. Purposefully taking the _long_ way back to his desk, he hoped that he'd given his youngest agent enough time to get the CafPow out of his system. When he entered the bullpen, McGee was anxiously pacing the length of the hallway._ Probably should have stopped by autopsy too. _

"Boss," the junior agent exploded, words running together. "I've got something!"

Nodding, Gibbs fell into his chair. When he glanced up, McGee stood at the ready, grinning excitedly and remote pointed at the plasma. With a half-hearted sigh, the team leader knew his future held a lengthy, technical description. Motioning for Tim to start, Gibbs knew he couldn't rush the younger man through his work. Sometimes, he knew he actually had to pretend like he gave a damn about how they got their results. It only served as motivation.

Breathing deeply, McGee readied himself for his monologue. _Maybe if Gibbs were lucky, the caffeinated computer geek would get through the boring part faster. _

"Well, boss," Tim started, words pouring out of him faster than his brain could seemingly process them. "At first, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get into Braun's computer. There was a pretty impressive security system - ."

Feeling his eyes begin to glaze over, Gibbs reached into the top drawer of his desk. Pausing, McGee glanced at him questioningly and the team leader slammed a sheet of paper on his desk. _"Notes."_

As the junior agent started rambling again, Gibbs began a list of tools that he needed for his next wood-working project. Checking on McGee, he nodded to appear like he was actively listening. When Tim's face turned thoughtful, the team leader mimicked his expression and jotted down the dimensions of a new chisel. The skill of "listening, without paying attention" was a valuable one that he learned during his second marriage. It paid off nearly every day.

Taking a swig of his coffee, Gibbs contemplated his mallets and figured he was due for a replacement. As the team leader pressed his lips together, the younger man glance wide-eyed at the laptop. _Why the hell was McGee talking about lawn gnomes? _

Tuning in for a second, Gibbs smirked when McGee gestured wildly. Face excited, the junior agent waved his hands over his head. " – _finally _bypassed the TPM with a cold-boot attack! I - ."

_Word vomit, _Gibbs decided and sipped his coffee. While nodding a few more times, the team leader added some differing grains of sandpaper to his list.

"- that's when I found _this_!" Clicking the remote at the plasma, the junior agent grinned triumphantly and crossed his arms. On the screen, there was a document that consisted of a list of triple digit numbers with a corresponding location. Pointing the remote over his shoulder, McGee switched to an image of drying laundry. Rising from his chair, Gibbs stared at the picture.

A blue shirt flanked on either side by two white handkerchiefs blew in the wind against a cloudless sky.

"What the hell is that, McGee?" Shrugging, the junior agent flopped into his chair.

"Frankly, boss. I'm not sure. Once I decrypted the computer, I could account for all the documents on his system except the one with the numbers." He switched from the image to the document. "There's a list of about twenty-five three digit numbers with a location. But the numbers aren't the corresponding area codes for the locations." Switching from the document to the picture, McGee looked perplexed.

"This picture is the only message in Braun's e-mail. He's set his mailbox to automatically purge his messages after he reads them and closes out the session. His internet provider couldn't recover his e-mails. This one," he pointed at the plasma again, "hadn't been read yet. The e-mail originated from an anonymous account set up before it was sent and deleted right after. It was sent from an internet café in Philadelphia."

As he studied the picture, Gibbs crossed his arms. "English, McGee?"

Failing to stifle a yawn, McGee's eyelids drooped suddenly. "I can't trace the source of the e-mail, boss. Unless we figure out what that picture means, it's a dead end."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer : I still own nothing, except all the typos.  
**

**Author's note : **_Thanks to everyone who has read, favorited and followed this story so far. Also, extra thanks to **Long Live BRUCAS**, **sopmire**, **mamamia1964**, **angelscatie**, **Megth**, and **Scat2010 **for taking the time to review! I love reading your thoughts as the story progresses.  
_

_I'm planning to return to Tuesday/Friday updates again.  
_

_Hope you like it.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**5:38pm – Bullpen - NCIS Headquaters, Washington, DC -**

Rolling his shoulder to push his backpack higher, DiNozzo tried not to glance into the box of evidence that he and Ziva had recovered from the victim's apartment. As they rode the elevator in silence, Tony shook his head, knowing Gibbs would be unimpressed by their haul. When they'd realized that only the lockbox and letters were interesting, they'd grabbed a few books, the wedding picture and a random article of clothing to keep up the appearance of evidence.

On his way into the bullpen, DiNozzo's backpack finally slid down his arm and onto the floor. Behind him, Ziva snickered and crinkled the bag carrying the team's dinner, causing Tony's stomach to growl loudly. _Definitely was time for that chicken chow mein he'd been craving all day. _

Driving back to headquarters and readying for a long night, Tony and Ziva had opted to stop for takeout. Never needing to check in on Chinese night, they'd picked up their choices, McGee's standing order of General Tso's chicken and the usual garlic shrimp for Gibbs. To the present day, DiNozzo still wasn't sure if his boss even liked the dish. He'd been ordering the same thing for Gibbs since his first week on the job and his boss always ate it. That was the only confirmation that Tony needed.

As Ziva dropped the takeout bag on her desk, DiNozzo's stomach growled again. "You are hungry, Tony?"

"Starving," he laughed, dropping the evidence box and kicking his backpack towards his desk, "where is everyone?" Glancing around, he was surprised to find the bullpen empty. Well, almost empty. In the midst of devouring an eggroll, Ziva gestured to McGee's desk. Obscured by his computer, the junior agent was face down, deep asleep and snoring quietly.

"Perhaps they had a long day?" she questioned, mouth full of deep-fried goodness.

"Poor Probie. Gibbs must have tried to work him to death." Grinning playfully, DiNozzo crept across the bullpen towards the junior agent's desk. As he raised his arms to sound McGee's wake-up call, Tony felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His stomach churned before the rancid scent of burnt coffee burned his nostrils. Tensing, he had a split-second to prepare for the smack that rattled his brain. "Thanks boss."

_"Leave him alone," _Gibbs growled, marching to Ziva's desk. After grabbing one of the takeout containers at random, Gibbs headed back to his own space. As Tony retrieved his chicken chow mein, the team leader glared incredulously at his senior agent.

"Really, DiNozzo? _Shrimp again?!" _

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**8:10 pm – Bullpen – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

Head propped up on his hand, DiNozzo closed his eyes and felt himself nearly fall asleep. When they'd started eating dinner, he'd been so hungry that he managed to finish off his food, the shrimp that Gibbs turned down and part of McGee's chicken. He'd even had an eye on Ziva's extra egg roll until she threatened him with a plastic fork. Even though he didn't believe she could actually kill him with it, he didn't want to be proven wrong.

Looking over the remnants of his feast littered across his desk, the senior agent suddenly didn't feel very well. Muffling an overstuffed hiccup into the back of his hand, he slid the empty containers into his trash can. Despite the fact that he'd been hovering near a nap for the past hour, he'd been awake enough to know the team was coming up empty.

The picture that McGee found of the laundry sat on the plasma, mocking the agents. Planted in front of the screen, the team leader stood cross-armed, studying it. With his back to the senior agent, Gibbs had been staring at the image since Tony had started his sodium-laden binge. It didn't take much for DiNozzo to picture his angry face.

Across the bullpen, Ziva sketched her own copy of the picture. Next to her left arm, a small pile of drawings sat in folded ruins. As she would finish a piece, she'd overlap the paper to see if the handkerchiefs fit into any configuration that relayed a message. When the creases became too deep, she'd slide it to the side and start anew.

Trying to quell his nausea, DiNozzo turned his comatose attention to the junior agent. Brow furrowed and lips pressed tightly together, McGee typed frenetically, pausing to absorb the information on the screen. Every few minutes, he'd shake his head slightly and register a few clicks with his mouse, seeming to start over as well.

Stretching to the far side of his desk, Tony retrieved a wayward fortune cookie and smashed it inside the plastic. Tony managed to read the fortune before its dust even hit the trash.

_The answers are right in front of you. _

"They are, my ass," he remarked, relaxing back in his chair and smoothing his suit jacket. When he turned his attention to the team's progress, three sets of agitated eyes glared at him. Grabbing a letter off his desk, DiNozzo grinned nonchalantly.

"Ya got something, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growled, swiveling back towards the picture.

"Thought I read something about a donkey. It was just more sheep," Tony laughed. Unsure how many times he'd read the letters since leaving Norfolk, he figured another go-through couldn't hurt.

"Ziva?"

"There does not appear to be any of combination of fold that form a message, Gibbs, but I shall try again," she informed Gibbs, shoving her most recent sketch into a pile and starting another.

"Tell me _you_ got something, McGee?" Gibbs asked, spinning to face the junior agent.

The youngest agent typed frantically, the low clicks sounding through the bullpen. Finally, he stopped and peered at Gibbs. "Not yet, boss. I haven't been able to find any connection between the numbers. I've run it through several matrix codes, but they're all gibberish. I - ." He paused, turning his attention to his computer. While he clicked the mouse a few times, the team leader stared him down. "Abby just sent me an e-mail. She doesn't have anything either."

Glaring back at the picture, Gibbs didn't need to face his agents. "_Somebody find me_ _something._"

Wide-eyed, McGee glanced to DiNozzo for direction and the senior agent shook his head. Even Ziva dropped her eyes, focusing on her task rather than the impending confrontation. Being the senior field agent, Tony knew it was his responsibility to broach with Gibbs the fact that their leads might only be dead ends. Rising slowly from his chair, DiNozzo straightened his tie and approached the plasma.

"Boss, maybe there's nothing to find?" He bristled, anticipating the head slap that didn't come. Instead, Gibbs leaned towards Tony. With his boss' face inches from his own, Tony could smell the coffee melded with Gibbs' breath. _Or maybe it just oozed from his pores. _

"Ya think that's _nothing, _DiNozzo? The guy owns a pretty impressive computer and - ." Apparently forgetting the word, the team leader motioned with his hands.

"Encrypted, boss," McGee offered, grinning brightly until the identical withering stares from Gibbs and DiNozzo made his face drop. The junior agent turned back to his computer.

With his attention focused back on DiNozzo, Gibbs continued. "_Encrypts_ his damn files. The only thing that doesn't mean something is that," he pointed to the picture, "and the other thing." Over his shoulder, the image changed from laundry to the numbers. Just out of Gibbs' view, Tony raised a fist at McGee and the image quickly switched back. "The only thing even remotely _interesting_ in his apartment were those letters. No one knows anything about this guy, not even his _damn wife. _Of course, it has to mean something."

Crossing in his arms, DiNozzo imitated the team leader's stance as they studied the image on the plasma together. At best, the picture resembled a laundry ad before an advertising team had a chance to add that catchy slogan. _But if Gibbs said it meant something, then it meant something. _

The team worked in tense silence, broken only by McGee frenzied typing until the elevator dinged. Open to any opportunity for a break, Tony glanced over to the hallway and watched Dr. Donald Mallard amble over. Dressed in his typical suit and dress coat, the doctor appeared to be bundled up to head home for the night.

"Boss."

Concentration broken, Gibbs angrily stared at DiNozzo until he noticed the aging medical examiner. With a slightly amused smirk, the team leader nodded. "Hiya, Duck."

"Why, hello, Jethro! Anthony. Ziva. Timothy." DiNozzo and Ziva nodded their greetings, while McGee waved distractedly without taking his eyes off his monitor.

"So what brings you up here, Duck?"

"Since I was on my way out, I figured I'd bring my final autopsy report for your review, Jethro," he stated, extending a thick file to Gibbs. "With Mr. Palmer incapacitated, I've had to do my own errands. You know, it's been most refreshing to become reacq - ."

"So what are we paying the autopsy gremlin for this week?" Tony interrupted, knowing Gibbs would become agitated if Ducky rambled unchecked. The swift smack to the back of his shook his brain and DiNozzo let out a squeak. "Thanks, boss."

Obviously ignoring the senior agent, Mallard turned to head out of the bullpen. Halfway out, he noticed the image on the plasma and paused to study the picture. "What _is_ that, Jethro?"

As if weighing his options, Gibbs paused and eventually sighed. DiNozzo knew his boss would take a lead in any form. _Even if it involved Ducky's impossibly circuitous tales of when he was a lad. _

"Found it on Braun's computer. Guy's got a list of numbers with some locations too." Waiting for several beats, he glared as his junior agent. "_You can switch it now, McGee." _The image changed and Gibbs pointed to the documents.

"We found a stack of old letters too. They're from around the time of the Revolutionary War," Tony volunteered, watching recognition blast into the old doctor's eyes.

"It can't be, can it?" Mallard questioned more to himself than anyone else, while he stared slack-jawed at the plasma screen. As the doctor began to clean his glasses, Gibbs and Tony shared an incredulous look.

"Can't be what, Duck?"

"Can it?" Blinking as though to clear his vision, Mallard leaned his face mere inches from the plasma.

"Duck? Do you recognize this?" Placing a strong hand on Mallard's shoulder, Gibbs shook the medical examiner gently.

Face uncertain, Mallard looked at the team leader. "I may. I'm not sure though. It's - ."

"Anything you've got is more than we do."

"Culper," the medical examiner, stated as though it solved their case. Without further explanation, he turned back to the screen.

"Ducky, we do not understand," Ziva called, alerting everyone that she and McGee were actively watching the scene unfold. Closing his eyes for a second, the doctor laughed and pointed to the image.

"The Culper Spy Ring," he explained, touching a hand to his unbelieving face. "It was America's first foray into espionage during the American Revolution. On Long Island, a group of men and women passed coded messages to raise the alarm about moving British forces in the latter portion of 1778. The messages for their meetings used garments of different colors to determine a location or something similar. I don't remember what the placement of the handkerchiefs means, but it is relevant to a secret meeting. Why would our victim have these things now?"

Gibbs simply shrugged.

"Ducky? Did you say _Culper? _And what year?" DiNozzo asked rapidly, knowing something sounded familiar as he hustled back to his desk.

Not removing his eyes from the plasma, Mallard nodded. "Yes, I believe Samuel Culper, there was a junior and senior. It should be in 1778 or 1779, during the latter part of the war." Studying something intently on the screen, the doctor's brow furrowed. "That's curious."

Retrieving a bagged letter from his desk, DiNozzo stabbed his finger at the paper. Scattered throughout the bullpen, the confused faces of his team regarded him intently. "Samuel Culper's the one who wrote the letters. These letters start in 1776 and they appear to originate in Philadelphia."

McGee started typing furiously, his clicking rhythm echoing through the bullpen.

"Also curious. Actually, that's most strange," Mallard stated, managing to divert his attention from the plasma. Vision jumping between Tony to the screen, the medical examiner seemed overwhelmed.

"Focus, Duck," Gibbs ordered, keenly staring at the doctor. Almost knowing the doctor held the key to crack the mystery, the team leader placed his hand on Mallard's shoulder again.

"If I recall correctly, the numbers are agents' code names. But there's one in," Mallard pointed a finger at the plasma, "St. Helena, Montana and there's another one in," he excitedly stabbed another finger lower down on the list "San Diego. Neither place existed at the time of the American Revolution. Perhaps this is a list of descendants of the original spies?" Eyes sparkling, the doctor grinned broadly at the team leader.

"So you're saying our petty officer is the descendent of a Revolutionary War spy?" Gibbs questioned, sounding skeptical.

"Well, there _is_ that family tree that traces Braun's family back to a Cotton Putnam who lived through the American Revolution," DiNozzo volunteered, starting to warm up to Mallard's theory.

"It's probable. The laundry is a message they used to call a meeting. Perhaps the group continues to be active?" Gesturing to the picture, Mallard nodded. When he glanced at his boss' unreadable face, DiNozzo wasn't sure about the doctor's idea anymore. _Maybe Ducky spent too much time in autopsy. _

"What about the dates on the letters?" Tony asked.

"Perhaps the group originated in Philadelphia and moved north to New York as the British did?" Mallard shrugged, face still awestruck. _They were rediscovering history. _

"It's possible. I found a website that confirms Ducky's theory," McGee offered, pausing to review the site. "The webmaster maintains the Culper Spy Ring is still active. It states that the ring fights to preserve America's 'oldest secrets.' No one seems to know what those are or the identities of the spies. It also states the ring is believed to have started in Philadelphia, but there's no documentation to support the claim. Well, it seems until now."

Nodding, Gibbs silently mulled over the information and studied the plasma. Out of the team's sight, his unbelieving face resigned itself to unwilling acceptance. _Well, they had a lead. _

"You got any information on this, Duck?"

"I believe Mother has a very old book on the subject. I read it one summer when I was a boy. I'm quite surprised that I even remem - ," Mallard rambled, as the team leader pointed to Ziva.

"Let's go find that book. David, with me. DiNozzo - ."

Not needing the order, Tony was already at his desk. "Running another search for more information. On it, boss."

Gathering his gear, the team leader nodded again. "McGee - ."

"Contacting the webmaster and confirming the information. On it, boss," the junior agent answered, not looking up. Right before he stalked out of the bullpen, Gibbs grabbed the pile of letters from Tony's desk.

As he launched his own internet search, DiNozzo watched Gibbs and Ziva leave with the medical examiner. By the time the elevator doors closed, his first search yielded no results and Tony knew it was only the start to a very long night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer : I still own nothing.  
**

**Warnings : Some language in this chapter. My apologies if anyone is offended.  
**

**Author's note :** _Thanks to everyone's reading, favoriting and following. Big thanks to **Scat210, Long Live BRUCAS, angelscatie, **and **DS2010 **for dropping me reviews. Glad to hear what you think! _**  
**

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**9:01pm – Bullpen – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

"Really, McGoo? Really?" Tony DiNozzo asked, skimming the website that Tim McGee had used to give their boss 'credible information' about the Culper group. Half-way through another story that made the _Weekly World News _seem reliable, he glanced at the junior agent. "_Really?"_

"What was I supposed to do, Tony? That was the _only website with __any_ _information_ within my search parameters." Pressing his lips together, McGee shrugged.

Bringing up his own search, DiNozzo transferred the findings to the plasma. "Here's one from a school in Kentucky about the group on Long Island and here's one from a professor at Penn State."

"Well, I _thought_ I found some good information on that site. It was the only hit that included Philadelphia. It's not like I have time to fact check when Gibbs is right there, _staring at me," _he sputtered, pointing to the team leader's vacant desk.

Replacing his findings with McGee's conspiracy theorist website, DiNozzo displayed a story about aliens invading a midnight showing of _Casino Royale _in Topeka.

Screwing his face into his Sean Connery impersonation, Tony leered at McGee in a brash, Scottish accent. "How would Gibbs like this lead, McUFO?"

While Tony dissolved into laughter, McGee buried his face in his hands. "I'm _so_ dead."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**9:46pm – Dr Donald Mallard's Brownstone - Georgetown, MD –**

With an aggravated sigh, Ziva David sat back on her knees, wiping her dusty hands on her cargoes. When they'd arrived at Donald Mallard's house, he'd urged them to search his house for the book. When Gibbs pressed for information, Mallard had only shrugged, seeming to remember something about the title involving the American Revolution and espionage. Gibbs had actually growled when the aging medical examiner stated the book was green, or possibly blue, or maybe brown. As they'd split up throughout the house, Ziva had known they shared the same thought. _Did the book even still exist? _

Quite some time later, the assassin was crouched in a spare bedroom, rummaging through several ancient boxes and finding nothing.

As she finished digging through one box, she stretched aggressively and started rooting through the contents of yet another box. A low huffing noise caught her off-guard. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as her training kicked in, her motions on autopilot. Fluidly pulling her weapon from her holster, she rolled to the side. About to order the target to stand down, she froze when she pointed her gun at a watchful Corgi in the doorway.

The dog let out a low, soft growl and began pacing. Ignoring him, Ziva holstered her weapon and turned back to her mission. Digging through the current box, David was amazed by the eclectic collection of reading material Mallard had amassed over a lifetime. Within his nonfiction assortment, there were books on from falconry to architecture to religious icons to the Byzantine Empire. Despite the sundry, his passion seemed to lie on subjects of a historical nature. When she reached the very last book, she discovered an old leather-bound volume on a American colonial culture, using Philadelphia as an example.

While she carefully placed it on the floor, the quiet click of claws over hardwood alerted her to more company. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed a few additional dogs had decided to pay her a visit. As she turned to face them, the quartet of Corgis emitted a collective growl. Rising from her spot on the floor, her attempts to shoo them into the hallway was met with another growl. With her hand on her weapon, she debated about how to make them move but ultimately decided that Ducky would probably not appreciate a firefight with his canines.

From the hallway, a feeble female voice called, "Marco! Mario! Myron! Mondo! Where are you, you naughty boys?"

"Mondo?" Ziva questioned, glancing over the pack of angry dogs. One of them barked to alert their owner of the location. Glaring at the sell-out, Ziva had no chance to hide as Ducky's elderly mother shuffled into the room.

Noticing Ziva, Mrs. Mallard, no longer frail and helpless, guarded the exit. The pack of Corgis organized themselves into a line at their master's feet, forming an additional barricade. _"Who are you?"_

"I'm Ziva David. A friend of Duc – Dr. Mallard's. We are searching for a book."

Suspicion clung to the senior citizen's face as she advanced towards Ziva, raising her cane like a club. "I don't believe you."

Backing out of range, the Israeli checked on the dogs. Seeing only three, she searched until she found the fourth standing behind her, teeth bared. Continuing to approach, Mrs. Mallard readied for a swing. When she got closer, the elderly woman froze unexpectantly, dropping her cane to the floor with a dull thud.

"You're one of them," she murmured sadly, gesturing to Ziva's chest.

"I don't understand," the Mossad liaison whispered, feeling confused. Thankfully, the Corgis had reconvened at their master's feet, wagging their backsides. Pointing directly at Ziva's necklace this time, Mrs. Mallard looked purposefully into the other woman's eyes.

"You're a Jew," she stated and David nodded, still not comprehending the situation. "It makes sense that Donald brought you back here. He's trying to protect you from them, isn't he?" Deciding to play along with the Alzheimer's patient, Ziva nodded again and the senior citizen's face fell. "My Donald is a good boy." At her feet, one of the Corgis howled. "You're a good boy as well, Mondo. Now, you said you and Donald are looking for a book?"

Without her cane, Mallard's mother swayed and Ziva deftly jumped forward, placing it in her hand. Aiding the elderly woman to stabilize, David nodded. "Duc – Donald said he possessed a book about espionage during the American Revolution. We need to loc - ."

Motioning for Ziva to follow, Mrs. Mallard began to shuffle out of the room. "You're a brave girl, my dear, to take _them_ on." While David felt confused again, one of the Corgis let out another howl. "She's a brave girl, Mondo. Not a good boy." The dog let out a whine, but continued to trail Mrs. Mallard and Ziva. "Come along, my dear girl. We'll find that book just yet." The elderly woman glanced over her shoulder, clear-eyed and grinning wickedly.

_"Then you can take down those Nazi bastards!"_

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**10:18pm – Dr Donald Mallard's Brownstone - Georgetown, MD –**

Lounging in an ancient armchair in Mallard's parlor, Leroy Jethro Gibbs shifted his weight in a feeble attempt to get comfortable. When the chair creaked like it would implode, he gingerly slid back to his original position. Trying to ignore the ache in his backside, he continued to skim an old book's yellowed pages.

Agitatedly flipping another page, he'd already learned more than he ever wanted to know about a bunch of dead spies he didn't care about. For some inexplicable reason, the group seemed important to the victim. With nothing else to go on presently, he'd grudgingly had to follow the lead. Exhaling loudly, he just needed to get to the part where it explained their damn codes. _Why the hell didn't the G-damn book have an index? Don't all books have indexes?  
_

On the other side of the overly decorated room, Ziva leaned on something that resembled a mutated cross between a couch and a bed. Absorbed in the book she'd found about Revolutionary War culture, she absently sipped the milk tea Mallard made them. Gibbs had yet to touch his.

Guarding the parlor's exit, the pack of feral dogs dozed in a mass pile. As Gibbs shifted his weight again, the chair moaned, waking one of the mongrels. With the fur on his back rising, the dog emitted an angry growl. Gibbs narrowed his eyes at the canine over his reading glasses, watching the pet whimper until it fell back asleep. A thud echoed from the floor above, shaking the chandelier.

_"Those damn Nazi bastards!" _Mrs. Mallard's muffled shouts echoed through the parlor. Glancing up, Gibbs watched the chandelier shake again. Annoyed, he sighed loudly enough to send the newly roused pack of Corgis scattering as fast as their stubby legs could carry them.

"Find anything in that book, Ziver?" he asked, broaching the already broken silence. As he reached for his tea, the chair groaned again and he rolled his eyes.

"I have not found anything yet, Gibbs. The book describes the layout of a city during the American Revolution, but it was written in the 1930s. It is quite interesting," she stated, not lifting her eyes.

Taking a swig of the cold liquid, he gagged when the vile, sweet milk tea assaulted his tongue. As he replaced the mug on the ornate side table, he gave up skimming the book, opting to only read a few words on each page.

Just as he started to believe the excursion to be a waste, he finally found the section on the Culper ring's use of coded messages. Skimming the page, Gibbs learned that a shirt indicated a male spy had called for a meeting. Petticoats indicated that a woman requested the meet. Since certain colors were rare in colonial era clothing, they were only used to convey additional information. Glancing over the list of colors, Gibbs ascertained that blue directed the receiver towards a local tavern instead of the normal spot. Handkerchiefs and their placement were used for day of the week and time.

Picturing the laundry image in his head, Gibbs tried to determine its meaning. Without thinking, he took another sip of the dreadful. Spitting it out, he slid the mug well out of reach. If he'd interpreted the clue correctly, Derek Braun should be meeting a man on Thursday where a popular, colonial tavern once stood. "Ziva, does that book have any taverns listed in it?"

"There are many, Gibbs. Can you be more specific?"

Wrinkling his nose at taste of tea still on his tongue, Gibbs crossed the parlor to collect the Culper letters from an ugly table. _Why the hell was there naked women carved into the wood anyway?_ Peeing in from the hallway, an intrepid Corgi panted heavily. When he saw the former Marine, the dog sprinted deeper into the house and Gibbs chuckled to himself.

Pacing around the room, Gibbs touched a hand to the back of his neck. He skimmed a letter that discussed a chair, Culper's relatives from Edinburgh and purchasing ale for an upcoming party. As he dropped back into his chair, it read his mind and groaned. Since the letter mentioned ale, perhaps it was the one that offered clues about the tavern.

"This one talks about a guy making a chair, Scotland and buying ale in bulk." With a sigh, he leaned back in the chair.

"Gibbs! I know where they will be meeting!" Climbing off her mutant perch, she flipped through the book. When she finally found her page, she crouched next to Gibbs' chair and stabbed at the page with her finger. "The Tun Tavern. It was built by Samuel _Carpenter _in 1685. Founding place of the Saint Andrew's Society - ."

"Patron saint of Army rangers," Gibbs smiled, wrily.

Pointing to the page again, Ziva met his eyes. "As well as Scotland. Also, a tun is an Old English word for a barrel of beer. A tun of ale could be enough for a party, yes?"

As Gibbs examined the Culper's curling script under the low parlor light, he shook his head. When the evidence bag crinkled under his fingers, he had to wonder how this was their most solid lead.

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**11:03pm – Bullpen? - Possibly NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -**

Adjusting his bow tie, _Very Special Agent _DiNozzo reached under his tuxedo jacket and removed his Walther PPK from the shoulder holster. Comforted by the weapon's weight in his hand, the agent silently slid along a concrete wall. Suddenly, sirens exploded in his ear. _Damn, how did they know he was coming? _

As he continued deeper into the bunker, the metal grates tapped quietly under the soles of his patent leather shoes. Pressing his back against the rough concrete wall, DiNozzo tried to block out the sirens that attacked his tired brain. Their shrill wails pounded through his chest and he could _feel _them in his teeth. Exhaling deeply to center himself, he pushed off the wall and moved until he reached a large, steel door.

If the screeching alarms were any indication, he knew the target would be waiting for him just inside. Leveling his gun into a ready position, Tony punched the door switch. As it slid open, he jumped through the opening.

Across the barely furnished bunker, an ugly bald man sat at a long table, clutching a Persian cat. Just like Tony anticipated, the bastard _was_ waiting for him.

"So, Mr. DiNozzo, it seems you have found me." The man rose from his seat, tracing a finger over the long scar on his face.

"You were a little too obvious," DiNozzo started, voice gruff like Sean Connery's. Barely having time to contemplate his new dialect, the agent pointed his gun at the approaching man. When he still advanced, Tony disengaged the safety. _"Stop." _

The man threw his head back, laughing maniacally. Strangely, his revelry resembled a ringing phone. A momentary pause ensued before the man rang again. Coming unglued, Tony felt himself lose all sense of reality. There was another ring from somewhere far away. The room blurred white and melted into darkness.

In the bullpen, DiNozzo popped his head off his desk. Confused, he wiped the drool from his chin, smiling lazily. As he glanced sleepily around, McGee worked slowly, his eyes heavy. While the phone rang again, Tony cracked his back.

"Are you going to answer that or what?" McGee snapped, gaze riveted on his computer screen.

"Oh my - ," he started, full awake and scrambling for the phone before composing himself. "DiNozzo."

"Took ya long enough," Gibbs sneered.

"Was a little busy, boss," Tony stated, figuring that taking down Dr. No constituted as busy.

"Find anything else?" Glancing helplessly at McGee, DiNozzo pointed to the phone and gestured wildly. The junior agent bit his lip, shaking his head.

"Not much. Did you get lucky at Ducky's?" DiNozzo heard McGee try to stifle a snicker.

"Figured out what that damn picture means."

When the team leader paused, Tony wondered if his boss expected him to ask for a sit-rep. Unsure how to handle the sudden change in roles, DiNozzo channeled his best Gibbs interpretation. "Whaddya got, boss?"

Not needing to see McGee's slack-jawed glance, Tony realized his mistake when his boss emitted a terrifying, guttural sound that he'd never heard before. "Braun has a meeting with a man in Philadelphia tomorrow. At the location of the old Tun Tavern, around 10. Should be at the intersection of King Street and Tun Alley. You know where that is?"

As he ran a quick search of the location, DiNozzo recalled his time on Philadelphia's police force but couldn't remember either street. "I don't think there's any King Street or Tun Alley, boss."

"Ya sure about that, DiNozzo?"

"Boss, I used to _live _there. I'm pretty sure." Quickly skimming through a few websites, he found one that explained the unique history of the Tun Tavern. "The original location of the tavern is smack dab in the middle of 95, but there's a plaque outside Front Street. Maybe that's the meeting spot? Or it could be by Penn's Landing? That seems to be in the general area."

"Well, go to the meet tomorrow. It could be related to our murder."

"But, boss. I - ."

"Leave tonight and take McGee with you."

As Gibbs ended the call, DiNozzo realized there was no arguing his second road trip of the day. Emitting a tired sigh, he started to collect his gear from his the top drawer of his desk. He also retrieved a small overnight bag he kept on hand for last minute trips just like this one.

"Better get your stuff together, McGoo. Looks like we're going on a roadtrip."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer : I still own nothing.  
**

**Warnings : Language, but nothing too bad.  
**

**Author's note : **_Big thanks to all the readers, followers and favoriters. Extra thanks to **angelscatie, DS2010, blarney, Long Live BRUCAS, RJane's Vindication**, and **Guest - nk** for leaving me a review. As always, I appreciate the time you take to let me know what you think.  
_

_Please bear in mind that I've never been to Philadelphia, so all descriptions are figments of my own imagination or what I found on Googlemaps. Apologies for any inaccuracies.  
_

_Also, I posted a short action-based WIP this week called, "Rough Seas," which I write when I'm tired of editing. So check it out.  
_

_Hope you like how this one so far.  
_

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**Thursday, November 16, 2006 – 8:43am – Penn's Landing – Philadelphia, PA –**

When a frigid breeze blew off the Delaware River, Tim McGee pulled his trench coat closer to his body, unable to suppress a shiver. Unfortunately, their last minute dispatch to Philadelphia and DiNozzo's desire to hit the road immediately hadn't afforded him any time to run home for warmer clothes. So he was stuck wearing the lightweight suit he'd left stashed at the office for the days after he crashed in Abby's lab. Trying to forget the cold air, he watched several barges meander down the waterway.

Under the gloomy sky, a brave woman jogged past him. When she finally caught his eye, they shared a grin and she nodded approvingly. As she continued down the block, he watched her back until she disappeared into a small park.

"Whatcha watchin', McGoo?" Materializing by McGee's arm, Tony DiNozzo glanced in the direction of the jogger. With a surprised yelp, McGee nearly jumped out of his skin.

_Was he taking lessons from Gibbs? _

"N-n-nothing, Tony." Grinning sheepishly, his cheeks flushed. Nodding, Tony passed him a coffee and the junior agent took a sip. Even though the hot drink burned his tongue, it warmed him significantly as the wind blasted again. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." With a wicked look in his eye, Tony gestured towards the park with his head. "I saw you, McXray-Vision." Instantly, the junior agent's face burned several deeper shades of crimson. Turning away from DiNozzo, he sipped his coffee and glanced back out at the barges. "I give her a six, anyway. You could do better."

"So, any idea where the meet is?" Tim inquired, desperate to change the subject.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Only Gibbs would send us to meet someone in the middle of 95," DiNozzo laughed, motioning for McGee to follow him towards a concrete walkway that connected Penn's Landing with the rest of the city. As they headed back to the city, the junior agent continued to scan for anything out of the ordinary. _Or that attractive runner..._

Passing over I-95 on the walkway, McGee peered over the side and surveyed the highway, thick with rush hour traffic. The junior agent continued to follow DiNozzo, his eyes taking in the landscape on an unfamiliar city. As they approached this historical section, Tim was surprised to see the skyscrapers looming over the shorter buildings.

"Where are we heading now?"

"There's supposed to be a plaque for the Tun Tavern where Walnut meets Samson," Tony explained, eyes alert. Flowing around them, office workers absorbed in their smartphones and coffees rushed to places of employment. Traffic slowly slid along in the street. Somewhere in the herd of cars, one cabbie laid on his horn. Shortly, more followed suit as if their raucous noise could spur the others forward. As they continued, McGee was absorbed in the unique architecture. Eventually, he nodded awkwardly.

"So, Philadelphia, huh?"

While they waited for the light to change at a crosswalk, DiNozzo raised his eyebrows at the junior agent. His usually expressive face was tight and unreadable. "_Yeah?_ What about it?"

"Well, does it feel weird to be back? What's the city like? Where'd you live?" Averting his junior agent's glance, Tony pounded the button for the crosswalk.

When the light finally flashed, DiNozzo barreled across the street with the junior agent struggling to keep by his side. After a power walking woman nearly trampled McGee, he dropped back, trailing behind Tony.

"What's gotten into you, McRoadkill?"

"Just curious, I guess. I thought it might help pass the time," the computer geek explained, falling back in step with DiNozzo when they hit the sidewalk. They drank their coffee, marching in silence for several minutes before Tony sighed loudly.

"Center City. Does it really make a difference, though?" With a warm smile, the junior agent shook his head, continuing to admire the colonial architecture of Old City. "I worked a beat down here."

"Wow, must be weird to be back_. _This is a really neat area," McGee grinned, inspecting an old-fashioned door frame. Absently nodding, DiNozzo appeared distracted by some long dead memory. His relaxed features tensed and he swallowed hard. "Did something happen?"

Shaking his head to clear the memories, Tony's schooled his face into an easy grin. Though when their eyes met, McGee couldn't deny the strange look in his senior agent's eyes. "None of your beeswax, McNosy."

Tony froze suddenly, causing the junior agent to collide with him. With a squeak, Squeaking, McGee jumped back and pulled nervously at his jacket. Rolling his eyes, DiNozzo pointed to a small gold plaque at ankle level. "Welcome to the Tun Tavern."

"So where do we wait?"

"Well, Abby said the exact historical location is back there," he pointed in the direction they'd come from, "somewhere on that walkway. But there's a plaque right here. Guess we take our chances and see what happens?"

With a nod, McGee glanced from the plaque to the overpass and back again. "My bet is they'll go for the real location."

"Well then, let's hope you're right, Probster."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**9:11am – Braun Residence – Chevy Chase, MD –**

Cutting the steering wheel of the Charger too far, Gibbs took the corner to Laura Braun's street on two wheels. Slamming on the brakes directly in front of the brick colonial, he killed the engine and checked the driveway to make sure there was a car present. He didn't want a repeat of earlier when he and Ziva had traveled all the way to St. Catherine's Hospital, only to discover that the pathology resident was still on personal leave.

As Gibbs climbed out of the car, Ziva followed him and they started towards the house. Opting not to walk a few feet to the driveway, the team leader crossed the lawn on his way to the door. While they approached, the assassin tensely called for his attention. "Gibbs."

Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes followed her outstretched finger. In the middle of the driveway sat a a dark-blue, late model Ford Taurus sedan. With his attention redirected, Gibbs stalked towards the car, trampling several neatly planted flowers at the edge of the asphalt. As he began to examine the car's interior through the window, he could only discern fast food wrappers and other trash. There didn't appear to be anything relevant to their investigation visible, though the car's presence seemed to be too much coincidence.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" A man snarled behind them.

Gibbs glared at the tall, blonde man. Pulling his badge out of his pocket, he flipped it open. "Special Agent Gibbs," he motioned to Ziva with his head, "and Officer David, NCIS. Is Laura Braun home?"

"Yeah, she's here. What's this about?" Crossing his arms, the man's features darkened further.

"Her husband's _murder," _Gibbs said, straining to keep his voice cordial. Inexplicably, his stomach burned. "Who are you? I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't give it," he challenged, staring Gibbs down. "Charlie Boden, Laura's brother. Let me get her for you."

"Mind if we come in?" Gibbs asked, forcing a polite smile. "Little cold out here."

"Yeah, I don't think so. My sister will be out when she's ready." With a nasty laugh, Charlie stormed back into the empty garage and Gibbs made a face after him. _Bastard. _

"Well, that man is unpleasant," Ziva stated flatly, her eyes still fixed on the Volvo in the open garage. With a shrug, Gibbs headed back to examine the interior of the Taurus. He knew they weren't here to make friends. On the opposite side of the car, the liaison checked the mess through the window on the passenger's side floor.

"See anything, Ziver?" Their gaze locked over the car and she shook her head.

Sliding back a few steps, Gibbs hurriedly tried to search for any clues within the mess on the floor of the backseat. Something inside him knew there was evidence and he wanted to see it before the sister came out. Unsure how long they had, his eyes flew over the flotsam littered all over back half of the vehicle. A glint of an object, half hidden under a Burger King wrapper, caught his eye.

"Can I help you guys again?" Startled, Gibbs spun around to find a young woman with messy blonde hair, her eyes swollen from little sleep and many tears. As the wind blew, she drew the Navy issue peacoat she wore closer. With a heartbroken laugh, she shrugged when she noticed Gibbs staring at it. "Derek never let me wear his coat. I only hope he doesn't mind that I'm wearing it now."

Unsure how to respond, Gibbs simply nodded. "Sorry for your loss, Mrs. Braun. I'm Agent Gibbs, you remember Officer David? We had some breakthroughs in the investigation, so we needed to follow-up." With fresh tears in her eyes, Laura waved at Ziva.

"I do not believe your husband would mind," Ziva said quietly, not to watching the pained look on Laura's face.

Wiping a stray tear away with the sleeve, Laura pulled the coat closer to her small frame. "How can I help? Please tell me how I can help."

"Was your husband behaving strange lately? Any long or last minute trips?"

Thinking hard for several moments, Laura eventually shook her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary for Derek. Like I told Agent DiNozzo and Officer David, we didn't live together all the time. He was only here every other weekend and when he was shore leave. There were a few times he went away for specialized training in Philadelphia. It was something related to his next round of testing for that next promotion. _Always something for that next promotion."_

At the mention of Philadelphia, Gibbs' eyes met Ziva's. There was no mention of any specialized training in his files. _He'd lied to his wife. _

"Do you know what he was doing in Philadelphia?"

"If he said he was in training Agent Gibbs, he was in training. I trust my husband. _Trusted."_ With a broken sigh, she shook her head.

"We searched your husband's apartment in Norfolk and turned up from letters from the Revolutionary War. Do you know anything about that?" Gibbs asked, as Laura shook her head again. "We also managed to access his computer and uncovered some coded documents that seem to be related to the letters. They seem to be pointing to some covert meeting he might have attended in Philadelphia."

"Covert?" Laura repeated, voice strident. "Are you saying my husband was a spy?" As the already hysterical woman began to unravel in front of his eyes, Gibbs shrugged at Ziva. Quickly rounding the car, the assassin wrapped her arm around the distraught woman's shoulders.

"No, we do not believe that he is a spy. We uncovered an organization that is related to the letters. It is made up of the descendents of spies form the American Revolution. We believe your husband was a member."

"Yeah, kinda like a secret society preserving their heritage," Gibbs volunteered.

"Well, that makes sense now," she murmured, rubbing her tears onto the sleeve of her husband's peacoat.

"What makes sense?" Ziva asked, removing her arm from Laura's shoulders.

"This one time, right after we got married, he said something really strange. But now, I guess it might make sense. We were in Williamsburg on our honeymoon, watching battle re-enactments. Afterwards, he was really fired up and spent the whole afternoon telling me how wrong the history books were. He kept saying how no one knew what really happened. At the time, I thought he'd just really studied the Revolutionary War in college. But if he really were part of a secret society, it might explain all the things he said and how private he could be." Letting out a ragged breath, she wrung her hands in an attempt to calm herself.

"Do you know anything about it?" Gibbs asked, as Laura shook her head. With a nod, the team leader gestured towards the Taurus. "Pretty nice car you've got here. I've been thinking about getting one."

"It's Charlie's," Laura answered, pointing towards the Volvo in the garage, "that one's mine."

"Your brother own a gun?" Gibbs asked, watching Laura's face turn suspicious.

"Yeah, it's little and black. What are you getting at, Agent Gibbs?"

"Do you know where your brother was Tuesday morning, Mrs. Braun?" Gibbs questioned, barely catching anger blast on her face before she started sobbing. Before Gibbs could push her, Charlie Boden rushed out of the open garage, clearly pissed. Wrapping his arm around his sister's shoulders, he tried to hustle her back to the house.

"Haven't you guys upset Laura enough? Why don't you just get out of here?"

Looking at the brother, Gibbs set his jaw. "Where were you at Tuesday morning?"

As Charlie opened his mouth to speak, Laura murmured something incoherent. His anger faded. Pushing him away, the victim's wife dissolved again into hysterical sobs. "Tell me you didn't, Charlie. Please tell me you didn't. Please - ."

At the exact moment Boden said something to her, the wind howled, carrying his words away. Grabbing her into a tight hug, Charlie turned his gaze towards the team leader. "Agent Gibbs, perhaps we should discuss this at your office?"

Placing a heavy hand on the brother's shoulder, Gibbs guided him down the driveway and towards the Charger. With tears streaming down her face, Laura watched the team leader open the car door for her brother. Barely audible, Ziva heard Laura's whispers in the wind.

"Oh Charlie. Why? _Oh __G-d, why?" _

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**10:22am – Center of the Walnut Street Overpass – Philadelphia, Pa –**

Sipping his now iced coffee, DiNozzo glanced back down the cement walkway. For over an hour, he and McGee had patrolled the bridge in the bitter cold for anyone who seemed to be present for a meeting. So far, they'd had no such luck.

Stooping to place his paper cup on the ground, Tony rubbed his hands together in a vain attempt to warm them. Part of him began to wonder whether their impromptu stakeout was turning out to be a bust. As he blew on his hands to regain sensation, he wondered if they'd interpreted the clues incorrectly. Either way, this lead had seemed like a long shot.

Next to him, McGee sighed, exasperatedly checking his watch. "No one's coming, Tony. _I got it wrong."_

"Do you really want to go back to Gibbs empty-handed?" Crossing his arms, he solemnly watched the color drain from McGee's cheeks. The younger agent's lips moved, not forming any words before they stopped. _"Then we wait." _

Looking back towards the city skyline again, DiNozzo reminisced about his time as a uniform. Of all the cities he'd inhabited before DC, Philly had been by far his favorite. The best part was the sense of belonging, like people appreciated _him._ It was the first time in his life that he'd ever felt needed. A ghost of a smile haunted his lips as he remembered the elderly residents on Chestnut Street who would dip into their pension funds to buy him and his former partner coffee.

A loud huffing noise pulled him out of his thoughts, forcing DiNozzo to refocus his attention on the bridge again. As he surveyed the the few people passing, he caught McGee blowing on his hands out of the corner of his eye. Starting to shiver, the junior agent wrapped his arms around himself and turned his head towards the Delaware. Letting out a frosty breath, Tony watched it trail the air before dispersing into nothingness.

One of the pedestrians suddenly caught his eye. A young man was headed down the footbridge towards Penn's Landing, checking out the people around him. Instantly, DiNozzo realized he was looking for someone specific. The senior agent held up his hand to alert McGee and clenched his teeth when the younger man began to turn his head.

"_Don't look._ Baseball Cap has his eyes peeled for someone."

"You think that's him?" McGee asked, still facing the opposite direction. Studying the man as he slowly made his way towards the Delaware River, the senior agent nodded. On the mostly deserted overpass, the man moved away from them and Tony started to follow. As the junior agent readied himself to go as well, DiNozzo shook his head.

"Stay here and make sure he doesn't get past you."

"But Tony - ."

"_I said, stay here."_ Meeting McGee's eyes, the senior agent shook his head. When Tony glanced back at the man, he realized he'd lost visual contact of the potential suspect, witness, well whatever the man was._ "Son of a - ."_

Out of nowhere, a figure wearing a power blue baseball hat whizzed past them. As McGee's muscles tensed to pursue, Tony had just enough time to realize something didn't feel quite right. Before the senior agent could even breathe, Tim bolted. Almost instantaneously, DiNozzo sprinted after the younger agent who was already several strides ahead. As the man with the hat hit the end of the walkway, he made a hard right and the younger agent pursued, unable to close the gap between them.

"McGee, stop!"

Breathing hard, Tony yelped as his left knee started to throb. With no support in his dress shoes, the pounding on the concrete tore through his old football injuries. He tried his best to ignore it, but knew his awkward gait was slowing him down. _Who knew his junior agent was actually a McRabbit?_

Past the parking garages of Front Street, DiNozzo weaved as quickly as he could around puzzled pedestrians. A Buick shot out of the lot to his right, nearly running the senior agent down. As the driver slammed on the brakes, Tony leaped at the precise moment, sliding across the car's hood. Grinning as he ran, he ignored the honks and curses behind him.

_That was so much cooler in real life. _

With his knee throbbing harder, Tony struggled to maintain his speed. Keeping his eyes fixed on the junior agent's back, McGee's billowing trench coat was difficult to miss even though he was pulling ahead. Something made DiNozzo's stomach clench and he suspected it wasn't the vendor cart hotdog he'd scarfed for breakfast.

_"Tim! Stop!" _

Suddenly, a solid object collided with DiNozzo, sending him to his knees. Unable to hold back a yell, Tony leaned forward on his hands, trying to focus on anything other than the agony.

"Sorry, sorry!"

Glancing in the direction he was hit, Tony noticed a grocery cart spilling over with trash and used bottles. A hand squeezed his shoulder, pulling him through the pain in his knees. The rancid stench of cheap alcohol cut with human waste attacked his olfactory senses before his vision focused on the man. When the man grabbed Tony's arm again, his face came into focus. It took a few seconds for the agent to recognize the aged face of a former informant.

"Arnie?"

"Officer Tony?" The years had not been kind to the vagabond.

Struggling to his feet, Tony stifled a gasp and pointed violently at Arnie. _"Don't move, got it?" _

Confusion clouded the homeless man's face, leaving DiNozzo guilty as he'd never raised his voice to the man in the year he supplied information. After the homeless man nodded slowly, Tony limped in the direction he'd last seen McGee. Out of nowhere, he knew why the situation felt strange.

_It was a set up. _

"Agent McGee!" he bellowed, fully aware the junior agent would be too far ahead to hear. _"You stand down!" _

The city's noises swallowed his order.

Nearly a block up the street, McGee ducked into an alley.

_Shit. _

With his left knee pulsing in time with his running rhythm, DiNozzo pushed himself harder until he reached the alley. Pulling out his Sig, he cleared the backstreet quickly. By the time he reached the other side, he'd found nothing but trash and a few stray cats.

Darting out of the alley onto 2nd Street, Tony almost barreled over a stroller. As its occupant's mother shot him a Gibbs-worthy death glare, DiNozzo desperately scanned the sidewalk for any sign of McGee. The senior agent checked in all directions, but there no billowing trench coat or baseball cap anywhere, only ordinary citizens going about their business. Still panting heavily, Tony limped towards the street and pulled out his phone. As he speed dialed McGee, he frantically scanned the passing cars.

"Come on, Probie, pick up," he muttered, listening to the phone ring.

Somewhere nearby, familiar music piqued his interest. Listening hard, he couldn't place the strange jazz song that played quietly. Trying to pinpoint its location, he followed the soft noise to the edge of the sidewalk.

The noise stopped. Swallowing hard, he hit redial and listened hard. When the song started up again, DiNozzo screwed his face in disgust.

Just as the music stopped for a second time, he noticed McGee's cell phone, abandoned by the curb.

_Shit. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer : I still own nothing.  
**

**Author's note :** _Thanks to all the readers, favoriters and followers so far! Also, big thanks to **angelscatie, Long Live BRUCAS, DS2010 **and **RJane's Vindication **for the reviews! Great to see your thoughts on the story so far! _

_Update today for** RJane's Vindication **since she requested one!  
_

_The cases diverge a bit from here between the murder and what's going on with McGee.  
_

_Hope you like it!  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**10:35am – Near the Intersection of Noble and Second Streets – Philadelphia, PA –**

Pulse pounding in his ears, DiNozzo scanned the city street, still helplessly searching for any sign of his junior agent. When he saw nothing out of the ordinary, he quickly debated how to act. Using his phone to quickly snap a picture of McGee's, he pulled on a latex glove to transfer the object to an evidence bag. Retracing his steps, he jogged back to Front Street, pausing a few times to take pictures of the street and alley. When he arrived at the spot where he fell, he luckily found his former informant crouched by his cart. Noticing Tony's approach, Arnie jumped to his feet.

"Officer Tony, I'm so sorry. I had no idea that it was you," he slurred, glassy-eyed and unsteady. Able to bite his tongue, DiNozzo couldn't stop the aggravated sigh from escaping. From what he remembered, Arnie was the type of man who'd sell out his own mother for a bottle of cheap vodka and a pepperoni pizza.

"Arnie, what happened?"

The homeless man rummaged through his cart, pushing through the bottles until he found one he liked. He'd uncapped the bottle by the time Tony touched his arm. As Arnie glanced over, DiNozzo's eyes watered at the stench of cheap vodka. _Damn stuff smelled like paint thinner. _

"What the hell happened?"

"There were some guys," he explained, arm shaking under the agent's grasp. "I didn't know it was you, Officer Tony. I'm sorry."

_"Arnie, what the hell happened?" _Dropping his hold, Tony pulled out his wallet. As he slid several bills into view, Arnie's eyes fixated on the cash.

"There were some guys," he slurred again. "They said there were some other guys that owed them money. Said they needed to grab one of the other guys and get their money. Gave me ten bucks to the one of them over." Arnie grinned toothlessly as the thought of his new wealth. When he noticed DiNozzo, his 's face abruptly fell when he realized he'd knocked over Tony. "Oh, Officer Tony. I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Running his hand over his face, DiNozzo's stomach flipped. _Ten bucks, that's all it took to abduct McGee. Ten dollars. _

"I'm fine," he lied, needing the vagrant to focus, "but they grabbed my partner. I need _you _to help me find him, Arnie. What did these guys look like?"

"They got Officer Leo?" he queried, referencing Tony's former partner. When DiNozzo shook his head, Arnie sighed with relief. "One was a little bigger than you with a blue hat and the other has dark hair."

"Anything else?" Arnie's eyes glazed over, causing Tony to counted the money in his hands. At the rustling of bills, the vagrant perked back up.

"They got into a big, black car. Like that one!" Excitedly, the homeless man pointed to a parked Range Rover. When the vagrant noticed the bottle of vodka in his hand, surprise passed over his face telling DiNozzo he'd probably forgot that he held it. Tossing the cap, Arnie drank deeply. Finished, he dropped the empty container into his cart and retrieved a white men's dress shirt. As he passed it to DiNozzo, he grinned drunkenly.

_So much for a reliable witness._

"Arnie? What is this?" DiNozzo barely managed to fit the garment into an evidence bag. Thankfully, the size was too small to be McGee's.

"The man with the hat stopped by right before you came back. Said six o'clock and to bring the letters. Said you'd know what it meant." When the alcohol hit him, the vagrant's eyes glazed over, slumping him to the ground by his cart.

"Don't leave this spot, Arnie," Tony ordered, thrusting the money at the vagabond. Confused, Arnie looked up at DiNozzo's hardened features. "I'll double it and we'll get you as much vodka as you can push in that cart."

As Arnie reclined on the cold cement, he exposed him gums again. "You always were my favorite, Officer Tony."

Rolling his eyes, DiNozzo reached for his cell phone.

_It was time to call Gibbs. _

_____-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**10:35am – Interrogation – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC – Concurrent with DiNozzo's Interview –**

Back pressed against the interrogation chair, Gibbs crossed his arms, staring down the young man across the table. Once furious, Charlie Boden's features were now contorted with an undeniable torment. As he wrung his hands under the table, the man tried not to look at the picture of Braun's broken body laid on the table. Right now, he inspected an interesting spot on the ceiling. Stretching for his coffee, Gibbs' eyes met Boden's for a split second before they turned skyward again.

_It was only a matter of time before he cracked. They always cracked. _

"So what happened, Boden?" Gibbs asked, keeping his tone light. Sipping of his coffee, the team leader watched Charlie look helplessly towards the door. The former Marine tapped his fist on the table. "You asked to come down here. What'd you want to talk about? You kill Braun?"

"My sister deserved better," he said, flatly, pausing until the team leader shot him a questioning look. "He only visited her every other weekend and a few weeks a year? What the hell kind of an arrangement is that for a married couple anyway?" Jaw muscles tense, Charlie pushed the pictures away without looking at them. "I killed him, okay?"

Studying the obviously troubled man, Gibbs felt his gut clench with uncertainty. The righteous anger in Boden's eyes seemed to justify his words, but something wasn't quite right. Taking another swig of his coffee, Gibbs decided to see where the interrogation led.

"So, how'd you kill him?"

"You already know that. I shot him," Boden growled, narrowing his eyes. Gibbs' phone rang, breaking the tense silence, and he sent it to voicemail.

"Where'd you kill him?" Boden's gaze darted to the crime scene photos. When he flipped the photos over, the team leader wasn't surprised at the doubt in Charlie's light eyes.

"In the woods. But you already knew that," he challenged, screwing his face in disgust.

"When'd you kill him?" The young man's eyes dropped, flicking to the left as he tried to fabricate a response. Shaking his head, Gibbs sipped his coffee.

_Charlie Boden was lying. _

"Monday night. But you already know that too." Boden leveled a glare at Gibbs, apparently not expecting the team leader to return it.

"You didn't kill him," Gibbs stated flatly, barely quashing a laugh at the abject horror on Boden's face. "Who are you protecting?"

"No one. _I _killed him. _Me. I did it," _Charlie lied unconvincingly, pounding emphatically to his chest.

Unable to stop himself, Gibbs raised his eyebrows in moderate amusement. Once in his interrogation room, most people would weave creative tales to escape the consequences of their crime. Very few innocent people ever confessed without good reason.

Before he could repeat the question, Gibbs' phone rang loudly again, causing the upset suspect to jump. With a growl, he checked it and noticed DiNozzo's name on the caller ID. Kicking back his chair, the team leader headed towards the door. Gibbs angrily shook his head when Boden began to follow, the phone still playing that _damned_ song Abby set up when he'd first gotten it. When he hit the hallway, he slammed the door.

"_DiNozzo_," he answered, "_you'd better have a damned good - ._"

"Boss, it's McGee's, he's gone," Tony interrupted, voice tense and breathless.

"Well, then go get him," he snarled, shaking his head. Only after he'd barked out the command on reflex did he truly understand.

_First, his team found all sorts of weird clues. Then an innocent suspect was falling over himself to confess to a crime he didn't commit. Now this? _

_What the hell was going on? _

"No, boss, he's gone," the senior agent explained hurriedly over city traffic. "We went to the meet and pursued a suspect. We got separated and I think the guy we were tailing grabbed him. _They_ called another meet for me at six, white shirt. Is that meant to be a location?" There was a lengthy pause, followed by a frustrated exhale. "They want the letters."

The silence over the line was disconcerting as Tony awaited Gibbs' instructions. Leaning his arm against the wall, Gibbs rested his head on it.

"Stay put, DiNozzo. Ziva and I are on our way." Hanging up the phone, he put his boot through the orange wall.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**11:02am – Corner of Front and Market Streets, Philadelphia, PA –**

"Really, boss? Like _I'm _going to stay put," Tony grumbled at his phone, eliciting a terrified look from a passing woman. As he stalked towards Front Street, he didn't see her break into a slow run across the street. While he moved, his stomach churned and he tried to figure out his next move. Surveying pedestrians, he felt frustrated that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He knew the odds were good whoever grabbed McGee had moved on by now. But he still wanted, - _needed - , _an opportunity to recover the junior agent before the situation got out of hand. _Well, maybe it was already there. _

Grinding his teeth, he stopped at a red light and waited for the signal to change. Headed back to the historical district, he didn't know if he needed to be there but it just felt right. Not knowing where to go, he'd figure it out when he got closer. Snapping his fingers when he remembered the person who could help him, he opened his phone again and called Abby.

"Gibbs, I don't have anything yet. I'll call you when I do," declared her husky voice, over the thumping goth rock.

"Not Gibbs, Abs," DiNozzo stated, jogging across the street when the light finally changed.

"Hey, hey, Big D," she crooned, voice thick with a bad, fake South Philly accent. "How's the city of Brotherly Love?"

Cringing at the use of his old precinct nickname, he regretted ever telling her that dirty secret. _That was the last time he let her buy shots after a case. _Shaking his head, he glanced over the colonial architecture.

"Not good so far. I - ."

"Well, Tony, it's not going so great here either. We've hit - ."

"Abs - ."

"Some sort of wall," she continued, ignoring him. "The finger print isn't in the system. Gibbs is having Laura's brother's car towed in as we - ."

"Abs - ."

"Speak. He thinks there might be evidence in it. I haven't been in the evidence garage for - ."

_"Abs! _Focus!" Next to Tony, a man ducked into a coffee shop. "I need you to look up something in that book of Ducky's for me."

"Tony? Is everything okay?" Her voice suddenly tense, DiNozzo could hear something scraping on her lab bench. Running his hand over his face, he braced himself for her eventual reaction. Though while he actually had her attention, he'd need her to complete his research first.

"I need to know what a white shirt meant to the Culper spies and where you think they might meet in Philly." As she turned off the music, the silence was unsettling. When he started to move again, he could hear her flipping pages. Scrutinizing people as they passed, Tony suddenly became uneasy.

_Could someone be following him?_

"White shirt is a man at the regular meeting spot. The regular meeting spot could have been a popular local tavern called 'The Man Full of Troubles.' At least, I think. Their existence in Philadelphia was never confirmed so I don't know if that's the right." Recognizing the name from his old beat, he nodded and listened to her type madly. "It's at 166 Spruce Street. Now what's going on?" Altering his course, DiNozzo didn't get a chance to explain. "I_t's McGee, isn't it? Is he okay_?"

"Yeah, it's McGee," he started, jaywalking across the street. A sedan narrowly missed him and he swore, shaking his fist at the driver. "Somebody grabbed him at Braun's meet, so we're meeting in a few hours to exchange. Gibbs should be down soon to get the letters."

"_Oh my G-d, Tony! Not Timmy! Did you call the local police yet?"_

"Not yet, Abs. _I called Gibbs_."

"Thought I told you to stay put, DiNozzo." Abby's melodic husky voice was replaced by Gibbs' gruff, pissed one. Unconsciously, Tony rubbed the back of his head, knowing full well the team leader couldn't head slap him from 150 miles away.

"I _am_ staying put, boss."

"_Bullshit. _We're on our way, just stay out of trouble." The line went dead.

As DiNozzo turned onto Spruce Street, he reopened his phone. Maybe Abby was right about calling the police. Without knowing what they were dealing with, Tony didn't want the entire force scouring the city. Still, he knew exactly who to call. Scrolling through his contacts, he reached the one whom he hadn't spoken with in years but still kept, just in case. As he dialed, he crossed his fingers that the number was still valid. It rang a few times before going to voice mail.

"Hey, you've reached Leo Carlin. I'm not around. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you soon."

Swallowing hard, DiNozzo realized he didn't know what he was doing. The voice mail beeped its indication to leave a message and he closed his eyes, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

"Hey Leo," he lauged, trying to keep his voice friendly for his former partner. "Been a while, huh? Hope you're good, yeah...look, Leo, I'm back in Philly for an investigation. Things went south and I think I might need your help. Off the books, of course. Call me back." After leaving his new number and Gibbs' number, he started down the sidewalk again.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**12:18pm – Unknown location –**

With a quiet moan, McGee slowly regained consciousness. A pounding headache welcomed him back to the waking world. Trying to touch his aching head, he couldn't move his hands from their position above his head.

_What the hell?_

Still discombobulated, McGee yanked on his hands, hard. When he heard a chain clanking against metal, he realized something was very wrong. Quickly sitting up, he only managed to get up about halfway before his arms restricted him. Finally, he grasped they were attached to something that was above his head. When his head pounded harder, he bit back a hiss and twisted his body under his arms, struggling into a seated position. Confusion coursed through him when he saw his hands cuffed to the brass headboard of a bed. Pulling his legs beneath him, he surveyed the small, stark room that contained him.

Barely large enough to constitute a bedroom, the space was bare. On the wall to McGee's left, there was a white door with no knob. Directly across from the door sat a window. Both structures were slightly off shape, indicating to the junior agent that the house was likely old. Craning his neck to peek out the window, McGee frowned at large, barren fields that seemingly stretched to the horizon.

"Great," he sighed, realizing he was in the middle of nowhere. The only good positive, he figured, was that the room was on the first floor, meaning eventual escape could likely be easier. _Just had to figure out how first. _

Shifting to rest his back against the wall, the junior agent contemplated his current predicament. _This was so not good. _

When he remembered the meeting, he rubbed his forehead. The excitement of a real pursuit had spurred him forward, closer to the suspect and away from Tony. When he'd cornered the exhausted suspect behind a dumpster, he'd felt triumphant. He'd never even realized that it was a trap until another man dug a gun into his back, relieving him of his Sig. Together, the two had pulled him into awaiting SUV, threatening to kill anyone that he tried to alert. If he hadn't seen a toddler and her mother, he would have fought back on the sidewalk.

Well, he had tried to fight. Only in the close quarters of the SUV's back seat, his attempts had been futile. Trapped between the two men, he'd been quickly overpowered. He hadn't stopped fighting until one of them pressed a cloth over his face. Realizing the abduction was planned, he felt bile burn the back of his throat.

Knowing he desperately needed to escape, McGee sighed and pulled at the handcuffs. Since his abductors had already removed his coats, tie, belt and shoes, he didn't hold much hope that anything remained in his pockets.

"_Damn._"

They'd even found the tiny knife he usually tucked in right side his waistband. As he shifted back to lean against the wall, he felt something dig into his side on his hip. Running his fingers over the fabric of his waistband, he felt a large staple that his dry cleaner had recently started using to affix tickets to his clothing. Grinning, he wrapped his fingers around his new savior and figured Miss Susie deserved a gift for his threat to take his business elsewhere.

It took a few minutes, but McGee managed to extricate the staple without completely destroying his pants. As he awkwardly started to pick the lock on his cuffs, he tried not to wonder who abducted him. Or if it was even related to Braun's murder. Instead, he contemplated what type of gift to buy Ziva as a thanks for teaching him lock picking.

Outside the door, McGee heard a set of heavy footsteps approach. Relaxing against the bed, the agent hid the staple under his thigh. After the person passed, Tim started to pick the lock again with renewed vigor.

Hopefully, he'd get himself out of the situation before any of his questions were answered.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer :** **I still own nothing. All intellectual property remains that of their creators. I make not money from this. ****  
**

**Author's Note : **_Thanks to everyone who's reading, following and favoriting. It's wonderful to see people enjoying. Also, I'd like to leave an extra thanks to **RJane's Vindication, angelscatie, Love Live BRUCAS, **and **Precious Pup. **  
_

_Shorter chapter today. Apologies. _

_Longer one and more action, next time.  
_

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**12:46pm – Unknown location –**

When the last pin slid into place, Tim McGee sighed with relief. Without the time to consider his situation, he scrambled off the bed and stepped on his shoes, which surprised him. Smiling, he tied the laces and debated about removing the other cuff.

Ultimately not wasting precious minutes, he quickly crossed the room to check the window. It was a solid piece of glass, fixed to the wall with no opening mechanism. Shaking his head, he clenched his teeth and rushed towards the slightly open door. Not quite realizing his good fortune, he strained his ears for any activity on the other side. When he heard nothing, he peered out into the long, dark hallway.

Sliding into the passage, McGee shut the door to let his captors think he was still inside and headed towards the left, taking the shortest route. As he moved, he continued to listen hard for anyone that might be in the dwelling with him. When arrived at the end of the hallway, he crept into a warm, inviting kitchen that reminded him of his family's.

_Was this someone's home? _

The thought was forgotten when he noticed the back door. Scrambling towards the exit, he nicked a cell phone off the counter. Pausing by the back door, he frowned at its lack of service.

_Maybe later. G-d, he hoped.  
_

With a quick peek to confirm that the back yard was deserted, McGee bolted out of the old farm house, nearly breaking his neck when he tripped down the few concrete steps. Not even feeling his new bruises, Tim shot to feet and leaned against the house's cold stone exterior. as he inhaled deeply, he hoped no one had heard him fall.

All he saw were fallow fields that stretched to the horizon in every direction and a grouping of trees that edged one of the fields towards the back. From his position, he saw no other buildings except a small barn on the opposite side of the gravel drive. Knowing what that meant, he ran a hand down his face.

_There were no neighbors. _

With a renewed desire for escape burning through him, he pushed off his perch and slunk around the house. When he located the main road far in the distance, he broke into a run towards it. Littered throughout the gravel drive, there were several varying makes and models of cars.

McGee tried not to wonder what brought so many people to the isolated farm. By the time he hit the main road, Tim was drenched in sweat, panting heavily. Remembering the phone, he felt instantly relieved that it had service.

_"Finally!_"

Quickly, he dialed Tony's number. The call barely connected before the phone's battery flashed, the screen going black.

"No, come on, _come on_." After several fruitless attempts, he hurled the useless gadget into a field.

An icy wind blasted, freezing his damp dress shirt and leaving him shaking. Crossing his arms, Tim failed to protect himself from the next wind. He knew he desperately needed help soon or he'd be risking frostbite in the unseasonably cold, November air. Teeth chattering, McGee tried to motivate himself to keep heading down the road. Without any protection, he figured running might help warm him. With the frigid air burning his lungs, McGee's best attempts at moving quickly were proving futile.

Mercifully, he noticed an approaching car farther up the road. Slowing to a walk, he slid the still cuffed hand into his pocket and stepped into the middle of the road. When the Mercedes drew closer, the agent flagged the driver. Sighing with relief at the slowing car, Tim headed to the driver's side window.

"You okay, kid?" the driver called through his cracked window. Concern etched over the older man's kind face, but McGee felt uneasy.

"Yeah," he lied, checking to see if anyone had followed him, "my car broke down a couple miles back. Could you please call a tow for me?"

With a half nod, McGee saw the man reach for his gearbox instead of his cellphone. Just as the driver put the car in gear, the junior agent rapped on the partially open window.

"Please," he started again, glancing back over his shoulder, "my name's Timothy McGee. I'm a federal agent and I've been abducted. I need your hel - ." The car door collided with his abdomen knocking him backwards, leaving Tim dumbfounded. With driver holding a gun on him, he figured there was no need to continue. He raised his arms, feeling nauseous.

_What were the odds? _

_"_Sorry kid," the driver apologized, forcing McGee against the car to handcuff him. Shoved roughly into the backseat, Tim landed on his stomach with a grunt and instantly struggled to a sitting position.

As the man slid back into the driver's seat, he checked McGee's location in the rearview mirror, dropping his gun onto the passenger seat.

"You cold?"

Not responding, Tim finally managed to right himself into one of the seats. He sat in silence, glaring out the window. Unfortunately, his cheeks raw from windburn and the blue that'd started to creep onto his lips answered for him. With a nod, the driver clicked the heat on and put the car in gear.

As the grey-haired man drove the car in the direction McGee had come from, the agent stared numbly out the window, watching his escape attempt in reverse. Mind spinning, he frantically tried to figure out his next move. Any move, for that matter. When the Mercedes turned down the driveway that led to the farmhouse, the agent inhaled sharply. In the rearview mirror, their eyes met, his angry and the driver's thoughtful.

"You don't even know what you're mixed up with, do ya kid?"

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**3:31pm – Outside "Man Full of Troubles" Tavern – Philadelphia, PA –**

With his back pressed against the colonial era tavern, Tony DiNozzo crossed his arms, ignoring the rumple it caused in his otherwise impeccable suit. While his mind tried to make sense of the situation, he didn't even feel the cold wind that blew past him. A loud gasp nearby distracted him and his eyes fell on a gorgeous blonde who pushing down her skirt.

_Damn, he'd been too preoccupied to even see it. _

Cheeks flushed with either cold or embarrassment, she shot the agent a flirty smile and giggled. As he returned it, DiNozzo watched her disappear around the corner. Sighing, he checked his watch.

_Where the hell was Gibbs?_

Trying to rid himself of the nervous energy, he paced around the small cobbled sidewalk in front of the building. As he checked his phone for any news from Gibbs, he had missed a call from an unknown number. It hadn't even rang. Just as he was about to return it, a Navy-issue Dodge Charger skidded to a stop by the curb. By the time Tony was in the backseat, the call was forgotten.

"Boss, Ziva."

Skipping the pleasantries, Jethro Gibbs swiveled in the passenger seat to stare at his senior agent. "DiNozzo, what the _hell _happened?"

"Boss, I - ." Suddenly, the car behind them blared its horn, causing Ziva David to swear in Hebrew. While the team leader stretched for his coffee, DiNozzo frantically reached for the seat belt. Shaking her middle finger at the offending noise, she maneuvered the car deftly around the corner and into a parking space. With the car finally in park and everyone still alive, DiNozzo swallowed hard.

"I don't know. We waited at the meeting spot for a while. Just when it seemed like a bust, some guy showed up. We chased him and McGee got ahead of me. When I caught up, they were both gone. I - ."

"You could not catch McGee?" Ziva questioned, laughter edging into her reserved voice. An instant later, the grin disappeared when Gibbs landed a smack against the back of her head. Tony smiled, half-heartedly.

_Good thing he wasn't the only one who got those. _

"_Well, he's faster than he looks Zee-vah._ Doesn't help that some homeless guy knocked me over! They paid him to separate us. _They were planning to abduct one of us_," DiNozzo explained, watching Gibbs' perpetually angry expression darken further. "They probably expected Braun to show up and when he didn't, well - . Maybe they wanted to ask us why we were here."

Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out the white dress shirt that he'd managed to cram in there earlier.

"Is that?"

Shaking his head, DiNozzo passed it to the team leader. "Nope, it's too small. That's part of the message they left with the homeless guy. He told me that we'd meet at six to exchange the letters for McGee. According to Abby, that shirt means the normal spot which should be where you picked me up. You think this has anything to do with Braun's murder?"

"Not sure yet. I guess we'll have to find out." Shrugging, Gibbs took a swig of his coffee and glared at a pedestrian that had paused by the car to tie his shoe.

"Did you guys make any sense of those letters?"

With a grim look, Ziva turned towards Tony and she shook her head. "No, though we can only assume they are some sort of a code. One of the letters indicated the secondary meeting spot where you and McGee started. There is no telling what the rest of them could mean. Though I believe they are likely extremely valuable."

"Otherwise, they wouldn't have grabbed McGee," Gibbs sneered, sounding disgusted.

Crossing his arms, DiNozzo leaned back into the seat.

_Maybe, just maybe, things were better when they were digging through cold cases. _


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer :** Nope, didn't get the rights from CBS since Tuesday. Would be nice, huh?**  
**

**Author's Note :** _I'd like to thank everyone who's read, followed and favorited this story so far. Also big thanks to **Long Live BRUCAS, DS2010, angelscatie, RJane's Vindication, wytygr, **and **Optimisticat **__for leaving me a review! I appreciate your thoughts on the story so far. _

_In the middle of changing jobs, so life's pretty hectic at the moment. Hoping to catch a spare minute to finish the next chapter of Rough Seas soon. _

_Hope you're still enjoying!  
_

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**4:45pm – Unknown location –**

Sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed, McGee pulled against the handcuffs in frustration. The metal irritated his chaffed wrists, causing him to sigh loudly. As he leaned against the wall, he shook his head.

_How did he manage to wind up exactly where he started from? _

Closing his eyes, Tim assumed Tony would be actively searching for him. If he'd followed protocol, DiNozzo should have notified the team and they'd have hopefully reached Philadelphia. At least, he figured it should be that late in the day by now. Without his watch, he had no sense of time. Outside the window, the sky was just beginning to darken and he estimated it to be early evening.

As another wave of frustration coursed through him, Tim yanked against the handcuffs, knowing full well that it would do nothing other than upset him. No one, not even he, knew where he was.

_What were the odds of getting out of this one alive? Who'd taken him? What was he and the team up against? Was any of this even related to their murder? _

There were so many questions for which he had no answers.

The door to his prison flew open, creaking loudly. Not expecting the intrusion, McGee jumped at the noise and glanced to the doorway. The driver of the Mercedes was busy carrying a chair over the threshold. As the man entered the tight space, the junior agent couldn't quell his rising fear.

Channeling his boss, McGee leveled the best glare he could muster at the man. Completely unfazed, the man dropped the chair and slid into it. As he crossed his legs, he smiled politely at Tim and nodded. In his hands, he turned over a small, black object. _Must be his badge. _

"Special Agent Timothy McGee, huh?" Unable to find his voice, McGee's glare melted and he nodded, swallowing hard. "Ah, you're one of those Navy cops, haven't seen one of you guys in a while. I really didn't believe 452 when he said he accidentally picked up a federal agent at the meeting this morning. Imagine my surprise when I actually found you wandering down the road. Sorry you got mixed up with this, kid."

"Sorry? You're _sorry? _You _abducted _a federal agent. If you let me go and surrender - ."

Raising his hand, the older man shook his head to silence the agent. As he ran the hand through his greying hair, the man's light eyes met Tim's. "I don't think so, Agent McGee. I'm actually more interested to find out why you and one of your friends were on that overpass today."

As he crossed his arms, the older man stared at McGee expectantly.

_Was he being interrogated? _

"It came up during our investigation," the junior agent volunteered, trying to appear cooperative without revealing anything.

"What happened to 253? Why wasn't he at the meeting?"

"253?" Confusion passed over McGee's face and he racked his brain, trying to figure out what that number meant. When he remembered the list of numbers with corresponding locations that he'd pulled off Braun's computer, he made the connection between the two.

_They weren't area codes. They were code names for members of the spy ring along with the person's location. So that website wasn't wrong! The group was still active! _

"Do you mean Derek Braun?"

Glancing towards the door, the man shrugged. "Could be. We don't use our civilian names."

"Who's we?" McGee questioned, earnestly searching for his own answers. With the wave of his hand, the man motioned for Tim to explain himself first. Sighing, McGee debated whether to divulge the information that his team had uncovered. As he looked down at the handcuffs, he decided it might be the best way to out of his predicament.

"If you mean Derek Braun, he was murdered a few days ago. During our investigation, we came across several old letters written by someone named Samuel Culper. When we accessed Braun's e-mail, we found that message with the blue shirt. We put those pieces of information together, _th__at's _how my partner and I ended up at the meet this morning. We _had_ every reason to believe what he was involved with _could_ have resulted in his death." Glancing back up at the man, McGee pressed his lips together. "Now, _who are you?_"

At the end of the explanation, the man appeared surprisingly concerned. They sat in silence for several minutes before he exhaled audibly.

"I must admit I'm impressed you were able to decipher the code. I'm 711," he stated, as though that explained everything, and McGee raised his eyebrow. "You may refer to me as George. Don't worry though, that's not my real name. I belong to a group of citizens that still work to protect America's secrets. As direct descendants of the original Culper spies, we are trying to rediscover a valuable piece of American history that has been lost since the Revolutionary War. 253 called for a meeting after he found several letters that he believed pertained to that mission. Where are they?"

_Nutjob. _

"Right now, they're at NCIS headquarters in Washington. What is it that you're looking for? Maybe I can help?"

Without another word, the man rose from his seat and picked up with the chair.

"George? What are you looking for? Hey! _Hey!_" Attempting to follow, McGee pulled violently against the handcuffs. When the door closed, he settled back onto the bed.

Suddenly, McGee realized his part in the entire operation.

_One half of a seemingly equal exchange. Too bad NCIS doesn't deal. _

_____-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**6:02pm – Outside "Man Full of Troubles" Tavern – Philadelphia, PA –**

Once again slumped against the brick façade of the colonial tavern, DiNozzo tensely scrutinized the passing pedestrians under the dim glow of the street lamp. In the window just above his head, the celebration of another workday's close wafted into the cold night. Not sharing their excitement, he glanced down the street but couldn't confirm his team's positions in the dark. Just knowing they were close was enough.

"See anything yet, DiNozzo?" Gibbs' voice roared in Tony's earwig.

_Yeah, a little too close. _

"Nothing," the senior agent stated, checking opposite direction. When another breeze rustled the bagged letters in his hand, he stuffed them into the inside pocket of his coat. Chilled, he moved closer to the curb, pausing by an antiquated street lamp. Under its dull glow, Tony checked his watch, frowning at the time. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure wearing all black approach. _Well, that wasn't su__spicious. _

"Got company, boss." When the man stepped into the light, he pulled the hood lower, covering his face. Sliding next to Tony, the figure nodded. At least, DiNozzo thought that strange head bob was meant to be a nod. Whatever it was, the agent returned the gesture.

"NCIS?" The voice was decidedly male, confirming DiNozzo's suspicions. Roughly the same height as Tony, the man was much heftier. _No way was this guy Baseball Cap from the morning meet. _

"Yeah." DiNozzo tried to peer under the hood but the man dipped his head. .

"You got the letters?" As the man held out his hand, Tony could see the man's pale skin in the low light.

Reaching into his jacket, DiNozzo removed the stack of pages and held them up. As the man reached towards the paper, Tony pulled them back to his body. "You've seen them. Now where's my partner?"

"Safe," the man growled, glancing over his shoulder.

"Keep him talking, DiNozzo. We're closing in," Gibbs ordered, instantly reminding Tony of the earwig. Somehow, he'd forgotten that Gibbs was inside his head. _When wasn't the team leader in his head? _Suddenly, the man lunged for the letters, wresting them from of Tony's grasp. He tensed, ready to sprint into the darkness, but DiNozzo grabbed his arm.

_"Wait! Wait! Uh - um, there's another one." _

"DiNozzo, what's going on?"

Ignoring the team leader's angry voice, Tony felt his pulse quicken as the man pushed the hood back. Deep down, DiNozzo knew they'd never see McGee alive again if Gibbs interrogated the man. If the man vanished with the letters, their only chance to recover Tim disappeared as well.

_He had to go with them. _

When the man's questioning blue eyes met his, DiNozzo noticed his left eye was nearly swollen closed_. "What did you say?"_

Glancing down the block, Tony confirmed that no one waited nearby with McGee and Gibbs wasn't close enough to kick his ass.

"There's another letter. My boss wasn't allowed to give them all to you, but I managed to memorize it," DiNozzo lied, invoking Gibbs' own rule.

"DiNozzo, don't you dare." _Was that concern in his team leader's voice? _

Confusion passed over the man's face as he glanced between the letters in his hand and the agent. "Take me with you and I can fill you in on that last one."

"Tony, we'll be there in a minute," Gibbs yelled, breathless. If he had to guess, it sounded like the team leader was running.

"Up to you, tough guy. My team's on their way_ right now_. You've got about thirty seconds to make up your mind. Just so you know, my boss is a little pissed off that your friends kidnapped my partner." Shrugging carelessly, Tony grinned when The man's unswollen eye widened, exactly like he expected. "So, what's it gonna be?"

_"DiNozzo!" _

Swallowing audibly, the man glanced nervously down the block and set his jaw, nodding slowly. "Pull that thing out of your ear and drop it. Throw your cell phone over there."

"_Tony! Don –." _

"Gotta go, boss," DiNozzo remarked, heart in his throat. As he crushed the earwig, he cringed, knowing that was coming out of his next paycheck. Pulling out his cell phone, he tossed it into the street.

"Come on."

Motioning for Tony to follow, the man jogged in the opposite direction. They'd barely made it a few steps before DiNozzo noticed two people running towards them at breakneck speed. _Oh shit. _

The man grabbed DiNozzo's arm, dragging him into traffic. Without a chance to look, the skidding tires alerted Tony that they'd had a near miss. When he heard the metallic crunching, he flinched and started to glance back. A firm push to his back spurred him forward, sending him flying down an alley off 2nd Street. In the pitch dark, he could feel the bricks thudding under his dress shoes.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs' voice exploded, reverberating off the walls. Quashing the innate desire to obey, DiNozzo hurdled down the dark alley, _away from Gibbs. _

_When this was all over, he was as good as dead. _

DiNozzo burst out onto a bustling, darkened street. A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him to the right. "Come on. This way!"

"Tony! Stop!" His boss' voice sounded farther than before, leading Tony to believe his death was no longer imminent. Sure that Gibbs would end him later, Tony could only hope that he would make it merciful after he brought McGee home safe.

A firm push on his shoulder forced Tony around a corner onto a deserted side street. Behind him, DiNozzo wasn't sure if they'd lost their tail.

The man grabbed Tony's arm, pulling him towards a waiting sedan. Checking down the street for Gibbs, the man looked terrified. Before the agent had a chance at a sarcastic comment, something connected with his head and everything went black.

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**6:24pm – Corner of Pine and 3rd St. – Philadelphia, PA –**

Completely out of breath, Gibbs halted from his sprint and glanced around the unfamiliar city streets. Panting heavily, he wondered how lost he and Ziva were after during their pursuit for DiNozzo. When the Israeli finally caught up to him, she leaned forward onto her knees.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, the team leader shook his head. Nothing was out of the ordinary on the street. With the sweat droplets to freezing on his brow, he stalked in the direction he _thought _he'd last seen his senior agent. Even though he knew DiNozzo was long gone by now, he _had _to keep looking. He couldn't have two agents missing in the field, not on the same day, _not like this. _His alert eyes scanned the foot traffic under the low lamp lights trying to find anything. To keep up with his long strides, Ziva had to jog slowly.

"What shall we do now, Gibbs? Tony is likely gone as well."

Narrowing his eyes at the liaison, the team leader ignored her comment. As he barreled down 3rd street, he watched the wide-eyed pedestrians leap out of his way. If they hadn't moved, he'd have trampled them without a second thought.

_What the hell had DiNozzo been thinking anyway? _

When Gibbs arrived at the next intersection, he paused, checking in all directions for activity.

"Gibbs," Ziva tried again. "_Tony is gone._"

The team leader punched the walk button, storming into traffic before the signal changed completely. In the middle of running a red light, a cabbie slammed on his brakes, narrowly missing Gibbs. Out of frustration, the team leader pounded his fists on the vehicle's hood, denting it. Beside him, Ziva placed a hand on his shoulder and he roughly wretched his arm away. Continuing across the road, Gibbs heard the driver yelling curses at him but still didn't stop. As he continued to glance around, he half-expected DiNozzo to leap out from behind a parked car. A part of him still wanted to believe this entire situation was just an elaborate prank that DiNozzo and McGee were playing.

Something in his pocket vibrated and he reached for his phone. Checking the caller ID, he didn't recognize the number. "Yeah."

There was a long pause, followed by a quiet inhalation. The team leader froze. "Agent Gibbs?"

At the unfamiliar male voice, Gibbs waved at Ziva, who instantly pulled out her own cell, likely to call Abby. "Yeah?"

"Detective Leo Carlin," the voice explained, "Tony DiNozzo called me earlier. Tried him, but I couldn't get through. He left your number too. Is everything okay?"

"More or less." Running a hand down his face, Gibbs' eyes met Ziva's and he shook his head. With a deep frown, she moved a few feet away and he watched the end of rush hour traffic slide past. There was a long pause on the other end.

"Look, Agent Gibbs, I used to be a _friend _of Tony's. He left me a voicemail to say that his investigation went sideways and he needed my help. Trust me, he'd only call if he were _desperate_. What's going on?"

Shaking his head in disgust, Gibbs watched the street lamp above him flicker. It finally went out, plunging him and Ziva into darkness.

"Where can we meet?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer :** **I still own nothing, but my typos and the odd original characters that pop up.****  
**

**Author's Note :** _Thanks to everyone reading, favoriting and following this story so far. Extra thanks to **angelscatie, Long Live BRUCAS, Megth **and **RJane's Vindication **for the reviews! Much appreciated to see your thoughts on the story! _

_Rough Seas should be up sometime this week.  
_

___Well, I guess it's an odd Sunday._

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**6:42pm – Abby's Lab – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC –**

"What do you mean it's not them, Ziva?" Turning her attention away from the fingerprint trace, Abby Scuito stared incredulously at the lab phone. On the other side of the table, Jimmy Palmer glanced up from some tissue samples. Prepared for Abby's coming meltdown, he rolled the lab chair toward her with his good leg.

"The person who called Gibbs is not the one who took Tony and McGee." Ziva's voice boomed out of the speaker phone, echoing with static. As he pressed his lips together, Palmer wondered how the most recent case turned dangerous. Abby frantically rooted through her trinkets on the lab bench before pulling out the remote and killing the stereo.

"Ziva, what do you mean _Tony and McGee_? What happened? You guys leave DC and all of a sudden-."

"Abby - ," Ziva started.

"McGee goes missing, then - ."

"Abby!"

_"Tony does too?!_ What's - ."

_"Abby!" _

"Going on in Philadelphia? It's - ."

"Abby, calm down," Palmer interrupted, "let Ziva say her piece."

"Thank you, Jimmy."

"You're very welcome, Ziva," Palmer grinned, eyes on the phone. When he noticed Abby's narrowed stare, he winced. With a nervous laugh, he pushed himself away from the forensic scientist.

_Even though Abby always said she could kill someone with no forensic evidence, there was no way she could get away with it. Not with a team of highly trained NCIS agents investigating, right?  
_

"Tony voluntarily went with whoever took McGee. Likely, he believed it would be the only way to complete a rescue," Ziva explained as Abby nodded reached for her stuffed hippo. "Someone called Gibbs and we believed it to be related. But it is not. I am sorry to have upset you. Abby, I must go."

"Wait, Ziva!"

"What is it, Abby?"

Palmer couldn't bear to watch the tear slide down Abby's cheek. As she clutched the hippo tighter, Jimmy instantly wished he was still in autopsy. _If only he hadn't dropped the corpse he was transferring on Dr. Mallard's foot…._

"Tell Gibbs I got through Boden's car. That guy really likes fast food and not the good for you kind. I _did_ find a spent 0.45 ACP shell casing in the backseat stuck to some wrapper. It's the same type of ammunition that killed Braun. Fibers from the trunk are a match for the fibers on the body."

"Gibbs will be pleased to hear that Boden is the murderer."

"There's where it gets hinky though, Ziva." Absently, the forensic scientist brought up a picture of the weapon on her computer screen. "I took the gun apart and there's a partial print on the clip that's not Boden's. Both partials on the gun _aren't _his. Why would you murder someone, clean the gun off, and then give it to someone else to hold? Better yet, why would anyone take it?"

"I do not know, but I will tell Gibbs your findings. I have to go now. I will contact you when I know more."

The line went dead. Abby pulled the hippo tighter, sighing loudly at Bert's fart.

"Well, this stinks," Jimmy laughed, eyeing the hippo. Abby didn't laugh, so Palmer propped himself up on his elbows. Running a hand over her pigtail, Abby tried not to cry. "Don't get upset, Abby. They'll be okay. Tony and McGee, they're trained agents. They're going to be _fine. _We'll keep working and everyone will be home safe before you know it. Just think, we might even get this case solved before they get home."

As though a light switch flipped inside her, Abby's instantaneously mood changed. Tears vanishing from her eyes, she grinned broadly. Surprised he'd chosen the right words for once, Palmer rolled back towards his tissue samples. He'd barely managed a few inches when the forensic scientist clamped her hand on the the chair.

"Abby? What's going on?"

Aiming Palmer's chair towards the entrance to the lab, the forensic scientist laughed heartily.

"We're going to solve the case, Jimmy!"

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:01pm – Outside Interrogation – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC –**

Probationary Agent Kenji Suzuki checked his watch, sighing heavily. Nearly seven hours ago right after he'd dropped off his final report to Director Shepard, Agent Gibbs had grabbed him by the collar, planting him in front of interrogation. After ordering Suzuki stand guard, Gibbs had vanished in the elevator. Checking his cell phone, the probationary agent read the most recent text from his own team leader and shook his head.

_"You've worked hard today, Kenj. Go home and take tomorrow off. You deserve it." _

How two men with such differing work philosophies managed to become head agents within the same agency confounded Suzuki. While Gibbs worked his team to death on cases, Kenji's leader, Barrows, respected his agents' need for the basic necessities like food or sleep. Even though Gibbs' team had the more impressive closure rate, it came at great personal cost for its members.

With two sets of orders, he debated about whether to head home or stand watch. Decidedly terrified of Gibbs, Kenji slumped against the wall. Despite just coming off a three-day straight case, he still felt alert. Or at least, he thought he did. He knew he was lucky that the suspect had been no trouble.

When he blinked, Abby Scuito had appeared in his vision, leaning down and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Kenji, did you just fall asleep with your eyes open? _That is so cool. _Can you teach me how to do that?"

"I wasn't asleep, Miss Scuito. I was thinking, with my eyes open," Suzuki blushed fiercely, desperately trying not to check Abby's hemline.

"How many times have I told you to call me Abby? Though if you ever do figure out how to fall asleep with your eyes open, promise you'll show me?"

A nervous laugh drew Suzuki's attention off to the side where Jimmy Palmer sat in a chair he'd probably stolen it from the forensics lab. Grinning awkward, he waved. Kenji tried to chase the sleep from his eyes, doing a wide-eyed double take between the goth and autopsy assistant.

_Was he dreaming? Or was he hallucinating from lack of sleep? He certainly didn't mind Abby, but why the heck was Palmer invading his dreams? That was the last time he let Barrows talk him into a gas station pizza on the drive back to headquarters.  
_

Blinking owlishly, Suzuki frowned when he noticed Jimmy was still present.

"You okay, Kenji? You don't look so good," Palmer asked, rolling the chair over.

"Yeah, just came off a long case. I was heading home to get some sleep when Gibbs asked me to guard his suspect. Well_, ordered me to_."

"Oh good," Abby exclaimed, tossing her pigtail over her shoulder, "I need to talk to Charlie Boden!"

She started towards the door but Suzuki jumped in front of her, holding his arms out to block her approach. "Miss – er, uh, ah, Abby. You _can't _go in there."

"Why not? Did Gibbs say I wasn't allowed in there?" Bottom lip jutting out, she crossed her arms and looked helplessly at the agent.

Thinking hard for a few moments, Kenji eventually shook his head. When he'd left, Gibbs had only pointed at the room, growling "_don't let him out."_ At least, that's all his muddled brain could recall. Suzuki glanced at Palmer who shrugged at his chair.

_Whatever that meant. _

"If he didn't say it, you can't get in trouble for it," Abby grinned, placing a soft hand on Suzuki's shoulder. "Plus, I'll tell him it was _all _my idea."

"What's your idea?"

"Exactly," Abby winked, pushing past Kenji again.

"You can't go in there."

"I need to find out who the real killer is," Abby explained, pumping a fist over her head. As she tried to slip past Suzuki, he could feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones. There wasn't anything left inside him to care. All he wanted was a hearty dinner and his bed. With a dejected sigh, he looked back at Palmer. Raising his hands to let the agent know he was on his own, Jimmy shook his head. Kenji sighed again. When he stepped out of her way, Abby placed a long kiss on the side of Suzuki's face.

_Well, at least it'd be well worth it when Gibbs got him fired. _

While she slipped in interrogation, Suzuki sprinted towards the viewing room. Even though he wasn't expect anything, he still wanted to record the interview. As an Eagle Scout, he knew it was always best to be prepared, just in case she managed any information from the suspect. Before he even hit record, the wannabe agent started.

"Just _what _the hell are you?" Charlie Boden demanded, rising from his chair. Surprised by the shock on the suspect's face, Kenji couldn't understand his disapproval. Most of the male agents loved Abby's sexy, off-beat outfits. When the probationary agents ate lunch together, her clothing, and hemline, were a frequent topic of conversation.

"Abby Scuito, forensic scientist," she introduced, extending her hand. Wrinkling his face at her in disgust, the suspect ignored her gesture and fell back into his seat.

"What the hell do you want? Didn't that cranky old guy tell you that I already confessed to killing Derek?"

"Cranky old guy? Who are you talking about? There's not too many of those around here. Though there is - . _Oh_, you must mean Gibbs. Well, you should know he's definitely not cranky, just misunderstood and he's not old. Well, he's kinda old, just not really old, not like needing dentures old. He's only - ."

Before she could humiliate herself anymore on tape, Suzuki pounded on the glass and she glanced over her shoulder, wide-eyed. _There was no way he could record over what she'd said. _

Swallowing hard, Kenji touched the back of his neck. As soon as someone discovered the incident, his days as an agent were over. Cringing as Abby started to speak again, he hid behind his hands. There was no way he could watch her destroy his fledgling career.

"So you confessed to Agent Gibbs earlier that you killed Braun?"

Peeking through his fingers, Suzuki watched the back of her head bob. From the timbre of her voice, Abby's interrogation technique sounded familiar, almost like she had picked something up from Gibbs.

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, it's just strange because that's not what the evidence shows."

"What?" Boden's voice jumped several octaves.

Gracefully climbing from her seat, Abby began to pace the length of the room while Charlie stared at his hands, sweat sliding down his face.

"Science doesn't lie. People lie all the time, but science can't. Fibers from _your _car were found on Braun's body. I found a shell casing that matched the type of ammunition that killed Braun in _your_ car. You're the registered owner of a Glock 30 subcompact. The _same_ type of gun that was used to kill Braun." Suddenly, Boden's face looked almost relieved, but Abby shook her head. "It just doesn't add up. How tall are you, Charlie? You're about my height, right?"

"Six feet," Boden nodded, sizing her up before dropping his eyes back to the table.

"Well, bullet trajectory shows whoever shot Braun is between five foot two and five foot eight, which means you couldn't have done it. Unless you were kneeling when you killed him, not that you'd kneel to shoot someone. I found a fingerprint on the clip that's not _yours_. Would you really let someone else put your gun together?"

Slack-jawed, Suzuki watched the forensic scientist interrogate the suspect as well as a trained agent. Even Boden raised his eyebrows as Abby slowly moved to her side of the table.

She exploded suddenly, slamming her hands down on the table and leaning into the suspect's face.

_"Who are you protecting?" _

Caught off guard, Boden jumped out of his chair, letting it topple to the floor behind him.

"_Laura!"_ He gasped, before motioning frantically with his arms. "No, I did it. I _killed_ Derek. I did it to protect my sister. I needed to - ."

Turning on her heel, Abby pointed to his chair and stormed out of the interrogation room.

Still sure this was all a dream, Suzuki started dialing Barrows and stumbled into the hallway. "Wow, Abby, that was _impressive_."

"Thanks, Kenji. Is that how you're supposed to do it?" _Well, if you ask Agent Gibbs, then yes. _Ignoring the question, the probationary agent shrugged.

"I'm calling Barrows and my team back in. We'll go pick up the wife since Gibbs is out on assignment." While he dialed his cell phone, Suzuki was surprised to see Palmer leaning against the wall in his lab chair, looking morose. He'd even forgotten he autopsy assistant had been there.

"As soon as she's done," Jimmy stated, pointing to Abby's victory dance, "we're going to get my crutches and then _I'm_ going home."


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer : Still own nothing but every typo.  
**

**Author's note :** _Thanks to everyone reading, favoriting and following this story. I really appreciate it. Also, extra thanks to **Long Live BRUCAS, scousemuz1k, Scat2010, victoriantealady, angelscatie, RJane's Vindication, **and **Guest JH **for taking time to leave me reviews. Really helps me feel like I'm going in the right direction. _

_We pick up a couple more OCs here.  
_

_Hope you enjoy this one.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:36pm – Mrs. K's Koffee Shop – Philadelphia, PA –**

Pausing as he opened the door to the city diner, Gibbs made a face at the smiling turkey taped to the glass. As he shook his head, he had to question the judgement of the man who chose the eatery.

"This is the correct location, yes?"

"Yeah," he replied gruffly, finally entering. When the heat from the diner hit his face, his cheeks began to thaw. Ziva pulled off her gloves, surveying the modest interior. Smaller than it appeared from the outside, the diner only had a few tables and a tiny counter. A young waitress in a tight, pink uniform mopped something off a table. Glancing up, her eyes met Gibbs' and she gestured towards it.

"How will recognize Carlin?" Ziva questioned, dark eyes studying the few people scattered about.

"He'll be the one waving at us." Pointing to a curly-haired main in a corner booth, the team leader crossed the diner with the assassin close behind. While they approached, the man scrambled out, extending his hand to Gibbs. "Carlin?"

"Yeah, I take it you're Agent Gibbs? And what your name, beautiful?" Detective Leo Carlin smiled at Ziva, letting his eyes linger a little too long.

_God, he was like DiNozzo, only with a bad accent. _

"That's Officer David," Gibbs growled, sliding into the booth before Ziva could respond. As she took a seat next to Gibbs, she smiled seductively at Carlin. When Leo's mouth fell open, Gibbs rolled his eyes and watched the other man retake his place.

"So what happened to Tony? He left me a voice mail about an investigation that went to hell. Is he okay?" Appearing concerned, the detective pushed at a french fry on his plate.

"He's fine," Gibbs offered, "just - ."

"Look, Agent Gibbs, this isn't my first rodeo, so _don't lie to me_," Carlin interrupted, narrowing his eyes at the team leader. "Like I said on the phone, Tony and I were friends. Well, more than friends." Ziva's eyes widened and Leo waved his hands, laughing. "No, no, not like that. When I was a uni, he was my partner. We patrolled the area around here for almost a year. If he called me for help, _there's a reason _and I want to know what I can do."

Leo dropped his badge on the table, meeting Gibbs' glare.

Holding Carlin's stare for several long seconds, Gibbs tried to decide his next move. In an unfamiliar city without any NCIS resources, he and Ziva would be little help to Tony and McGee. Rubbing a hand on his chin, the team leader knew he needed reinforcements.

_Even if they patronized places decorated with turkeys. _

For the first time he could remember, he blinked.

"Some group of spies grabbed one of my agents. When we met for the exchange, DiNozzo ran off them." Shrugging, Gibbs tried not to watch Carlin pop a gravy and cheese covered French fry into his mouth.

"_Spies_?" Carlin whispered, brown eyes turning serious. He dramatically checked for eavesdroppers before continuing. "There's _spies_ here in Philly? I can see why Tony said his investigation went to hell."

"Not quite," Ziva explained, shaking her head. "The group are not real spies. They are people that are descendent from spies. We believe they are related to someone named Culper?"

Carlin's eyes snapped up incredulously. "You've got to be kidding. Those guys actually exist?"

"You have heard of them, yes?"

"I always thought that was an urban legend around this part of Philly. Rumors started up a couple years ago about some wannabe secret society, kinda like the Daughters of the American Revolution or the Masons. Only to be a part of it, you had to prove that you were descendent from some Revolutionary War spy group. Seems a little crazy for them to be running amok kidnapping people, don't ya think?"

"Ya hear any rumors about them lately?" As a coffee mug appeared in front of him, Gibbs nodded his thanks to the waitress before she vanished.

"Not much. Only reason I've heard of them is because some conspiracy nut used to come into the precinct all the time. Wanted a bunch of unis to help him locate some treasure hidden somewhere in the city. He said that he needed to find it before the Culper spies did." Rolling his eyes dramatically, Carlin picked a fry out of the mound on his plate and popped it into his mouth.

"What? A treasure?" Gibbs asked, gagging on the diner's Cajun-style coffee.

"Yeah, he said it was jewels stolen during the Boston Tea Party. It's not in any of the history books, just a 'legend of the ages' kind of thing. Seriously, the guy was a nut." Picking up another fry, Leo waved his hands as if performing a magic trick.

"Was?"

"Well, now he's an ex-nut. Saw his obit in the paper a few months back."

With a growl, Gibbs watched the slow stream of headlights trickle down the street.

_Well, they were already looking for a group of spies that didn't exist. Why the hell shouldn't they be searching for a treasure that didn't exist either?_

"Assuming the treasure _does _exist," Carlin continued, "it's well hidden. I mean, no one's found it for over two hundred years. I'm not sure they'd even know where to start."

"That would explain why they wanted the letters," Ziva concluded, glancing to Gibbs.

"Letters?" Carlin repeated, confusion clouding his eyes.

"Yes. During out investigation, we uncovered a number of coded letters. When McGee was abducted, the group requested the letters for the exchange," Ziva stated, clasping her hands on the table.

"Then Tony went with them," Leo finished, shaking his head.

"Right, so the group may wish to use the letters to uncover the treasure. Do you know of any place where it may be hidden?"

"You're kidding, right?" Carlin laughed, leaning back in the seat and crossing his arms. "Whole neighborhood's a historical area. There's a ton of landmarks that have been standing since the Revolution and some before then. There's even more that no longer exist. It could be _anywhere. _Assuming the treasure exists and this whole theory is true."

Laughing again, Leo ran a hand down his incredulous face.

_"Not like we have anything else to go on. C_an they get into any of the landmarks tonight?" When Carlin shook his head and confirmed his suspicions, the team leader made up his mind. "We'll stakeout our best guess tomorrow. Ziva and I will stay here and try to figure out where they'll start. Carlin - ?"

"I can head back to precinct and see what I can dig up. Not a problem." Carlin rose from his seat, dropping a few bills on the table. "Nice to meet you, Officer David and – uh, I'll see you around, Agent Gibbs."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:57pm – unknown location –**

The first thing DiNozzo felt was searing pain that pounded its way into his brain. For the life of him, he couldn't recall where or when he'd fallen asleep. Judging by the tightness in his back, he figured it must have been a floor. When something soft tapped his cheek, he reached his arm to swat it away.

The object touched his face again, rousing him further. Suddenly, he recalled everything : the case, the letters, Philadelphia, the harried search for McGee, his escape from Gibbs and - .

_His escape from Gibbs, oh G-d. _

Touching the side of his head, he moaned. _That whack to the back of his head probably explained the killer headache. _

Anticipating motion from above, DiNozzo rolled to the side. "If that's your foot, McGoo, I'm going to kick your butt."

There was a quiet rustle several feet away and Tony grinned.

_Found ya, Probster. _

Finally feeling well enough to open his eyes, he exhaled and let the overhead light come into focus. As he pushed himself up, he gingerly rubbed the back of his head. Propped up on his shoulders on the hardwood floor, Tony took several seconds to notice McGee peering over the edge of a bed. Hair mussed and features tight, the junior agent looked a bit worse for wear.

"Hey, Probie," he smiled, as McGee's concerned face turned relieved, "how you doin'?"

With a half-hearted laugh, the junior agent held up his hands to show DiNozzo the handcuffs. "I'm okay, Tony. Just glad you're awake, you had me really worried. You've been out for a while. How are _you_ feeling?"

Jumping to his feet, Tony steadied himself as the stars swarmed his vision.

"Gibbs hits harder," he lied, watching the younger man's unconvinced nod. "Sit-rep, McGee."

"That website wasn't wrong. Those spies exist and _they're active_. Right now, they're looking for something that involves those letters and I think this," McGee rattled the cuffs "has something to do with it. Oh yeah, and _they're crazy. _Please tell me you have a plan, Tony."

"Of course, I have a plan. Why wouldn't _I _have a plan?"

By the door, DiNozzo glanced over his shoulder, beaming at the junior agent. As he ran his hand over the frame, he noted the hinges were outside and there was no handle. It would be impossible to take down from in the room.

"Great, what is it?" McGee leaned forward, expectantly. Crossing the room to check the window, DiNozzo thought fast. Just because he didn't have a plan didn't mean he had to tell Tim the truth.

"Step one, find you," he started, pausing just long enough to watch the junior agent hang his head. "Step two, get you out of those cuffs and well, use the bed to smash the window. Step three, find Gibbs. Any idea where we are?"

Biting his lower lip, McGee shook his head. "I escaped earlier and got a few miles away. We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Well - ." Just as Tony was about to unleash a few choice words, the door opened. When an older man peered in, McGee narrowed his eyes. "Friend of yours?"

"Uncuff him and come on," the man ordered, tossing DiNozzo a set of keys.

"Who's that?" Tony whispered, leaning to release McGee's handcuffs.

"That's their leader, George," McGee whispered, rubbing his wrists as he slid off the bed. As they crossed the room, DiNozzo met the junior agent's eyes, signalling to fight back at the first opportunity.

When Tony noticed the gun in the leader's hand, he touched McGee's elbow and shook his head.

_There'll be another chance. _

As he started down the hallway, George waved over his shoulder for the agents to follow. Only a few steps behind, Tony still debated about an attack. When the man in the hoodie from his own abduction approached them, DiNozzo decided not to take the chance. _It was too unpredictable._ McGee's tense face glanced back at him and Tony shook his head again.

_Wait, _he mouthed.

As the quartet moved through the hallway, the only noise was their quiet footfalls. George led the way into a large, nicely furnished dining room. Sliding to the head of the table, the spy leader gestured to the two place settings on it.

"Thought you gentlemen might be hungry," he offered, his tone light as though he were hosting a dinner party.

Unsure how to react, Tony chose to take advantage of their captors' kindness. _Better to be compliant until they let their guard down. _

Sliding an open chair, Tony's stomach growled at the full dinner on the plate. Maybe he was actually hungry. Still frozen by the entrance, McGee's anxious eyes flicked from George to DiNozzo. Tilting his head towards the empty chair, Tony tried to get the junior agent to sit down. McGee didn't move until the senior agent angrily pointed towards the seat. As he settled in, Tim swallowed hard, eyes riveted on the food on his plate.

While he reached for his fork, Tony's eyes settled on the, now, two men guarding the exit. The newcomer looked surprisingly familiar.

_Aha, that guy that grabbed McGee, might as well call him __Baseball Cap. Just how many of these guys were there? _

At the head of the table, George leaned forward, studying the agents. While Tim started morosely at his steak, Tony had already taken to consuming the steak with gusto.

"Surely, you can trust us Agent McGee. It's not like the food's been drugged," the older man laughed, smiling broadly at the junior agent.

As McGee glanced questioningly to the senior agent, Tony's eyes met his and he nodded.

_Just play along, Probie, I'll figure a way out of this. Promise. _

Defeated, the junior agent reached for his utensils, eating slowly. Barely tasting his food, the senior agent devoured it before their captors had a chance to take it away. When he finished, he pushed the plate away and leaned back in the chair.

"Thanks for the hospitality, George. Give my compliments to the chef," Tony complimented, managing to hide his tension in an easy grin.

"I'm sure that 452 accepts them," the spy leader nodded, gesturing towards the man who'd abducted Tony.

_Well, already calling that other one Baseball Cap, might as well call this one Hoodie. They have interesting choices in head fashion.  
_

Watching Hoodie blush fiercely, DiNozzo almost laughed at the absurdity of the exchange. Unable to stifle his own snort, McGee started choking on his bite. Using the glass of water to quell his coughing fit, Tim downed it in one gulp. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony thought George shook his head.

"So, mind explaining why you _invited _us all the way out here?" As George ignored the Tony, Tim tried to stave off a yawn and rubbed his eyes. "McGee, you okay?"

"I don't know, Tony. I just got really tired all of a sudden. I think -," he yawned. "I think -. I think there's something in the food," the junior agent said, his words starting to slur together. Climbing out of his chair, McGee knocked his plate to the floor and staggered backwards.

"What the hell? McGee! _Tim!" _DiNozzo exclaimed, rushing towards his partner.

Preoccupied with Tim's predicament, DiNozzo didn't notice the two guards had approached. Just as McGee slumped towards the floor, Baseball Cap caught him, heaving the agent over his shoulder.

"Hey! Hey! Where are you taking him?" The senior agent tried to follow until Hoodie forced him back into his chair. Glaring at George in indignation, DiNozzo slammed his fist on the table. "What the _hell _was that? _You said the food wasn't drugged!" _

"You're right. The food isn't drugged." Winking at the senior agent, George's face contorted into a malicious grin. "I didn't say anything about his water. You see, Agent McGee has been a bit of a _problem _since we've crossed paths so I had to take _precautions. _Though don't worry about him, it was only a little chloral hydrate. In the morning, he'll be right as rain."

By the exit, Hoodie unconsciously rubbed his black eye.

_Attaboy, Probie. _

"Look, you got the letters. You don't need us anymore."

"Incorrect, Agent DiNozzo. While the letters will lead us to a treasure we've been looking for, _you _might hold the key." Pointing at the senior agent, George smiled again. Desperately trying to figure out what the man was talking about, Tony sat in silence for several long minutes. When he remembered his bluff about the extra letter, he rubbed his forehead.

"What happens if I don't give care about your damn treasure?"

"Time to start caring, Agent DiNozzo. Otherwise, I think Agent McGee will be our guest a lot longer than any of us would like."

"Alright then, what's the plan?" Tony dropped his eyes to the table, realizing the group had real leverage.

_Also didn't help that he was slightly intrigued by the thought that the letters led to a treasure hunt. _

"Tomorrow, you and one of our operatives will go out and recover it. If you manage to recover it for us, you and Agent McGee go free. If not, he stays with us until we do. Now, we just need to figure out where to start."

It was only then Tony noticed the Culper letters by George's arm.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer : Own nothing but my OCs. Though if anyone wants to borrow them, have at it.  
**

**Warnings : **Gibbs uses bad language when he's cranky.

**Author's note : **_Thanks to everyone who's read, followed and favorited so far. As always, special thanks to **angelscatie, Long Live BRUCAS, scousemuz1k, Precious Pup **and **RJane's Vindication **for taking the time to drop me a review. Really appreciate it! _**  
**

_Some explanations this chapter. We'll get into a bit more action next time.  
_

_Not sure if I'll get the next one up on Sunday.  
_

_Hope you enjoy it.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**9:12pm – Kinko's – Somewhere in Olde City - Philadelphia, Pa. –**

"Whaddya mean it's not coming through?" Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs roared, watching sweat prick the teenaged clerk's forehead.

Biting back a growl, he pushed himself back from the copy-store counter. Ever since leaving the diner, he and Mossad liaison Ziva David had run into more problems than he cared to remember. It had taken six stores to find a working fax machine. Then Abby couldn't enhance the quality of her copies of the letters so that the ink would be visible after traveling through the phone line. Now, a clerk who probably couldn't find his own ass was trying to make the machine work.

Away from Gibbs, on the safer side of the counter, the clerk clerk helplessly glanced to Ziva.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what's going on, but we're having some issues with the connection. It's not our - . If you could just – just tell your sender to resend the document, we could see if I fixed it."

Turning around just in time to see the young man cross his fingers, Gibbs rolled his eyes and dialed Abby's number.

"_Giiiiiiiibbbbbs! _Tell me you got it!" Her throaty voice exploded over the line before a ring even registered.

"Sorry, Abs," he said, glaring over the counter, "_their_ machine's not working."

"It's probably not their machine," she laughed, shuffling papers over the line, "I don't think Senor Fax has seen the light of day since the Clinton administration. I'm really surprised the director hasn't recycled him. Hey, Gibbs, do you know what they do with old fax machines? Do you think - ?"

"Abs," he interrupted, "just send those letters."

"No problem."

"Thanks. Gotta - ."

"Wait! Gibbs!" On the other end of the line, Senor Fax sang a tone as it tried to connect to the store's device. As the machine behind the counter rang, the clerk finished his sign of the cross. The store machine began to return the tone, finally starting to print a document. Meeting Gibbs' eyes, the clerk looked like he'd just received a last minute pardon.

"What's going on, Abs?"

"How are Tony and McGee?" He could hear the tension in her voice, figuring that she'd worry herself into a fit without any information. With a nod to Ziva, he signaled that he'd be outside. Slipping out the door, the icy air bombarded him and sucked his breath away.

"They're fine. I'll bring them back." On her end, there was a quiet fart and he smiled.

_That damn stuffed hippo. If he had known that she would have loved it as much as she did, he would have bought her two. _

"Did Ziva tell you what I found?"

"Yeah, she did. Anything new?" Over his shoulder, Ziva appeared, passing him the faxed pages to inspect. As he glanced them over, he was surprised to find all six pages not only legible but in their entirety.

_So maybe the clerk wasn't a total idiot, just a halfwit._

_"_Well, Charlie Boden _didn't _kill Braun! I had some evidence that didn't add up. Since I couldn't ask you or Ziva or _Tony or McGee,_ I didn't know what to do. Then it hit me, why not just ask him? So I did and he didn't kill Braun."

Clenching his teeth, Gibbs shook his head.

_Suzuki. Figures that damn probationary agent couldn't figure out how to guard a compliant suspect for a day. _

"What's going on now?"

"Barrows and his team are picking up Laura Braun right now. They're going to finish up the case, just bring home Tony and McGee like you promised. _Please?" _

"Will do, Abs."

Gibbs glanced to the pile of letters. In his hands were all the answers; they just had to was figure out what everything meant.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**9:59pm – NCIS Viewing Room – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC –**

Head pressed against the glass partition, Kenji Suzuki blinked hard, trying to clear the sleep threatening to claim him. Even the ridiculously-sized CafPow Abby Scuito had supplied wasn't helping. All it did was make his heart race and his palms sweat.

Inside interrogation, his team leader was involved in a lively discussion with Team Gibbs' newest suspect, Laura Braun. With a tissue in her hand and tears in her eyes, the loving wife didn't seem a likely suspect. Though when she'd arrived, Suzuki had noticed her average height and a pencil's graphite smudge on the heel of her left hand. Both interesting details he'd pulled from Team Gibbs' reports.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to pay attention to the ongoing conversation. His brain only focused on the quickest way back to his bed.

"- didn't know Charlie killed Derek," Laura finished, fresh tears springing to her eyes. As her thin body quaked with sobs, Special Agent Steve Barrows leaned forward, placing a comforting hand on hers. Through the sadness, she smiled at him.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Barrows stated, a hitch in his gentle voice. "But we don't believe that your brother killed your husband."

Laura's tears suddenly stopped, a strange expression touching her pretty face. Bowing her head onto the table, she hiccuped and began sobbing.

"So, who killed my husband? Who then?"

Seeming unable to speak, Barrows didn't move in his seat. Suzuki shook his head, instantly knowing there was a problem. Not needing to think, he sprinted towards the interrogation room. There were days that his boss did so well that even Kenji forgot that Barrows had lost his wife only a few short months earlier. But every so often, Steve would freeze during painful conversations, especially those involving upset women. So far, his team had managed to keep Barrows' struggles from Director Shepard, but if they weren't careful someone might pass the news onto her.

While no one on the team wanted to lose Barrows, they were more concerned about the possibility of a reassignment to Team Gibbs.

As Kenji slid into the room as quietly as possible, Barrows smiled appreciatively at his intrusion. Suzuki felt his heart begin to pound, unsure if it was the CafPow or his nerves. Inhaling deeply, he attempted to channel some sort of calm.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Braun?" he squeaked, surprised by the meekness of his voice.

"Please, call me Laura," she smiled tightly, head rising from the table. Glancing at Barrows for approval, Suzuki grinned when he got it.

"Okay, Laura," Kenji questioned, leaning against the wall, "I just have a few questions. Do you mind telling me where you were on Tuesday morning, between four and eight?"

With an annoyed sigh, she looked at his team leader. "Agent Barrows, I already answered these questions from Agent DiNozzo and Officer David."

"Sometimes new information causes us revisit things. All protocol," Steve shrugged, watching her animatedly dab her eyes with a tissue.

"I was home, sleeping," she stated. Before Suzuki could ask his intended question, she answered it for him. "Yes, alone."

Not remaining still for fear of passing out, Kenji started to pace the room. His tired brain turned desperately in hopes of formulating a question. "How would you say that your relationship was with your husband?"

"We had our issues, but we were working on them. He was just getting ready to move back in soon." Smiling wistfully, she played with the large engagement ring on her left finger. Suzuki caught Barrows rub his own.

_But wait, that was different from DiNozzo's report. _

"Laura, didn't you tell Agent DiNozzo that your husband kept his own apartment to be closer to work?" Suzuki asked, uncertain where the lead headed but determined to follow.

"Well, yes. He did need to be close to work. But he - ."

"Were you and your husband separated?" Sighing quietly, she tried to blink back the tears. After a long pause, she nodded slowly, her lower lip starting to quiver. "Why?"

"I thought he was getting ready to leave me," she remarked, emotion draining from her voice. "So he moved into his Norfolk apartment full-time. But, but - . We were working on it. He was moving back home for good after his next deployment."

Leaning forward, Barrows touched the young woman's hand. "What made you think he wanted to leave you, dear?"

Shaking his head, Suzuki glanced to watch her reflection in the mirrored glass as he continued to pace around interrogation.

"Well, he was on the sub for months at a time and we'd barely have any contact. When he _was _home on leave, he was weird and private. Long hours on his computer. Disappearing for days and telling me he was on tactical training missions in different cities like Philadelphia or Baltimore. After a while, I just thought he might be up to something. It got to me."

As he continued to watch her reflection, her teary blue eyes flicked up, locking with his. There was no emotion in her eyes. Before Barrows had a chance to speak, Suzuki whipped his head around.

_Something didn't seem right, but he wasn't sure what. Maybe this was that hunch thing his cop mother always talked about. _

"I think you tried to figure out," he challenged, taking a complete shot in the dark, "and when you didn't like what you saw, so you killed your husband."

"No, I didn't. I - ," she sputtered, reaching for a tissue. As she looked helplessly to Barrows, he was preoccupied with staring at Kenji.

"Evidence has a funny way of telling us things that people don't," Suzuki paraphrased Abby, pacing around the room. "Your husband was taken to the crime scene in your brother's car. Your brother is a registered owner for the same type of gun that killed your husband."

"Well, that explains a lot. Didn't Charlie confess?"

"Yeah," Suzuki continued, crossing his arms, "but that's where his story falls apart. He's taller than the killer. He's right handed, while the killer is a lefty. There's a partial print on the murder weapon that doesn't belong to him."

Realizing where the questions led, Barrows sprung to life and pushed one of Laura's discarded tissues into an evidence bag. "I'm betting," he said, shaking his head, "that one of the prints on this tissue will match the print that's on the gun."

Emotion gone from her face, Laura dropped the tissue on the table and shrugged. With her hard blue eyes fixed at Suzuki, she leaned back in her chair.

"You're damn right I killed him. I hired a PI to follow him to one of those 'specialized tactical trainings' in Philadelphia. You know what he found? There were no trainings. Derek was trying to figure out how to leave me, so I decided not to give him that chance."

Aghast, Suzuki could only stare at the murderer for several long seconds. Before he could stop himself, he said, "Nothing in our reports indicate he was trying to leave you."

"Yeah, right. He was looking for a way out. He was always looking for a way out. _And if I couldn't have him, no one can._"

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**11:52pm – The Quartering Hotel - Just Off a Back Alley, Somewhere in Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Swigging his lukewarm coffee, Gibbs stared at the letters scattered over the table in the small hotel room. After the fax machine fiasco, he hadn't expected their luck to change when they needed a hotel room at a late hour. Thought he'd been surprised that most of the rooms were booked out for attendees of some eco-bullshit protest.

_Damn hippies. _

As he studied the grimy décor, he could understand how this was the only hotel with vacancies. On the other side of the dilapidated room, Ziva sat on the rotted wood floor among the paint peelings, propped up against the now yellow wall. Littered between her legs were several sheets of paper that she'd used to absently scribble ideas. Face deep in concentration, she stretched for one of the papers. Gibbs knew that they shared the same thought.

_Somewhere in this mess was the answer to finding their agents. _

Grabbing one of the letters, Gibbs rose from his chair. As he started to read it, Ziva watched the team leader pace past the single double bed.

While he reviewed the letter, Gibbs tried to care about Culper's latest waistcoat, a talented tailor, the man's family visiting from New York and his sister's dislike of coffee. Swigging his coffee again, Gibbs tried to put the pieces together.

"Waistcoat letter?" he barked, signaling Ziva for her thoughts.

Thus far, they'd assigned each letter a one word description so they could keep track of them. Already having solved the ale letter, they set it off to the side. The current five they tried to decode involved waistcoats, maize, traveling to New York, party food and of course, sheep.

"Based on what I have learned about the American Revolution _today," _the assassin stated, reading her notes "Culper may be alerting his group that their New York counterparts were visiting the area for a meeting. It is possible that a tailor had recently joined their group, yes?"

Finding her explanation plausible, Gibbs ran a hand over his face.

_Not like they could ask Culper what the hell he meant. _

With his male agents missing, Gibbs still didn't know how to react. Ready to leap into action, he'd wanted to rip the city apart, knocking down every door until he found Tony and McGee safe. But the rational part of him was understanding that Leo Carlin had been right. The group would wait until daylight to search for their treasures so they'd be able to sneak undetected with the tourists into the landmarks. The answer to their quest and finding his agents was finding their starting location in that faded ink of some long-dead spy. He and Ziva just had to _figure it out. _

_Well, that was even if the treasure did exist. But the burning in his gut told him that this was the right direction. It probably wasn't Carlin's diner's coffee.  
_

Grabbing another letter at random, he resumed pacing around the room. "Maize letter."

Skimming the words about corn, he felt surprised to think that the author had managed to hide clues on the page. With content that included details about getting lost in corn fields on a visit to a friend's farm, Culper's surprise that maize could be used to feed pigs and a story about the bumpy roads outside Philadelphia, it would be amazing if there was actual information. Frustration settled on Ziva's beautiful features and she shook her head.

"Gibbs, I do not know. Perhaps this one is meant to be a dead drive?" Raising his eyebrows, the team leader shot her a questioning glance. "Occasionally, communications are sent that mean nothing."

"A red herring?" Gibbs supplied, reaching for another letter. Something in the wall groaned and he rolled his eyes.

"They are delicious, but I do not believe food to be relevant," Ziva stated, rearranging her stacks of paper.

"Alright, Ziva, the sheep one."As she held up her stack of notes, she smoothed her ponytail and paused. Watching her intently, Gibbs knew she was trying to connect the discussion of sheep, a mention of a nameless lawyer friend, and his assertion that he'd found no good tea since he left Boston. Absently, she reached for the other two piles and reviewed them quietly.

"Gibbs, I believe this is the letter."

Instantly, she had his attention.

"What makes ya think that?"

"Pass me the book from the table," she ordered, not lifting her eyes to watch him retrieve it. When it hit her hands, she flipped through the pages, suddenly stabbing at the page with her finger. "Christ Church. It is an Episcopal church built in 1695."

"Why the church, Ziver?" He watched her intently, feeling confident when her eyes flicked up to meet his. Believing he knew the answer, he wanted to ensure they'd both arrived at the same conclusion.

"Sheep are a flock, as you Christians also call yourselves. The tea could be referencing the Boston Tea party and, if Carlin is correct, the treasure. I do not understand the lawyer."

Moving back towards the table, Gibbs leafed through a pile of tourist brochures they'd picked up in the lobby.

"Well, there's a big cemetery there. Bet there's a buncha lawyers in there."

_Figures he'd have to break rule #13. Damn lawyers._

"Perhaps it is where they hid the treasure. Or perhaps it will be another clue."

"Well, we'll see tomorrow. Set up at 0500. Confirm with Carlin," Gibbs shrugged, killing his coffee and tossing the cup into the trash.

With a nod, Ziva pulled out her cell phone and smashed the buttons. _Probably one of those new mini e-mails that people were always talking about. _"He will be there." Sliding her phone away, she fashioned her jacket into a pillow and reclined on the ground. Before the team leader could offer her the bed, she was already snoring loudly. When he noticed the visibly soiled bedcover, Gibbs knew why she'd bunked on the floor. The only bright spot was the room had been cheap enough that even Shepard should reimburse him without question.

Settling into the floor, Gibbs tried to ignore the paint chip that fell in his face. Before he had a chance to reflect on their situation, he was lulled to sleep by Ziva's raucous snores.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer : Still own nothing, except seasons 1 -5 on DVD. Oh and my OCs...and all the typos.  
**

**Author's note :** _So thanks to everyone who's read, followed, and favorited this story so far. Hope you're enjoying it. I'd also like to say extra thanks to **Long Live BRUCAS, scousemuz1k, RJane's Vindication **and **angelscatie **for taking the time to leave me reviews. _

_If you were following "Rough Seas", I wrapped that story up yesterday so check it out.  
_

_Update schedule is changing with my work schedule, it'll now be Mondays/Thursdays with some Saturdays. Apologies.  
_

_Long chapter and a little more excitement this time.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Friday, November 17, 2006 – 4:58am – Outside Christ Church Cemetery – 475 Arch St. Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Hands deep in this pockets, Gibbs faced the low brick wall surrounding the colonial burial site. Glancing down the street, he watched Ziva nod before she disappeared around the corner to check the other side of the cemetery that encompassed two city blocks. Under the low glow of the antiquated street lamp, the team leader barely made out the gravestones though the bars of the black iron gate. As far as he could tell, there was no movement.

In his hand, his phone vibrated. "Yeah?"

"Gibbs, I do not see anyone," Ziva stated, confirming his suspicions that the site currently had no living occupants.

"Fall back, Ziver." The click of the line assured him that she had heard. Removing the copy of the Culper letter from his pocket, he reread the words in the dim light.

_Were they really in the correct spot? _

"Wow, Gibbs! You really weren't kidding about the time!" A voice broke his concentration and he spun around, hand on his weapon. Several feet away, Carlin grinned, holding out a tray of three coffees. With a sneer, the team leader ignored him but still took the proffered beverage. Rounding the corner, Ziva approached the group at a jog.

"Hello, Leo," she greeted, smiling tightly.

"Hiya, doll. How's it going?" Carlin asked, passing her a cup of java. As she nodded her thanks, he stepped towards the gate, wrapping his hand around one of the cold metal bars. "So what makes you think this is the place?"

"One of the letters contains a code about the church. A burial site seems the most likely place to hide a valuable object," Ziva explained, clutching her drink. Nodding absently, Carlin tried to make out the headstones in the darkness. As he re-read the letter for the umpteenth time, Gibbs knew exactly what the other man was thinking.

_There's been a treasure here for 300 years? _

"Hey Carlin," the team leader growled, "find anything on these guys?"

When the detective turned around, Gibbs noticed the dark circles under Carlin's eyes and that he still wore the same clothes from the previous day. It didn't look like he hadn't slept yet.

"Not much," Carlin said, watching a sedan glide down the otherwise deserted street. "There's some chatter to indicate these guys are active, but nothing came through that makes me think they're criminal masterminds. More than likely, they're just ordinary citizens playing war games."

"War is never a game," Ziva stated, stooping to place her untouched coffee on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, that's true. But in America, people get bored and sometimes they like to act out old battles or crack codes for fun. Or in hopes of finding some sort of treasure," Carlin shrugged, drinking his coffee. "Not sure how DiNozzo and your other agent got mixed up with them."

"His name's McGee and we took their map. You find anything about that treasure?" Gibbs growled, finally drinking his decent coffee since leaving Washington. With a nod, Carlin smiled at the team leader.

"Actually, one of my contacts confirmed its existence. It's been on the FBI's watch list for decades. Every so often, someone will start a search for it, but it never turns up. Apparently, the treasure was included on the Dartmouth's manifest in 1773 when it sailed for America. They're rumored to be from the monarch's personal stash of jewels and sent to one of Boston's prominent families in thanks for their support during the difficult taxation issues. Well, they never made it since they went missing at the Boston Tea Party. In nearly three hundred years, it's never been recovered. It's anyone's guess where they are now. Who knows where those original spies hid them?"

"How much are they worth?" Running a hand over his face, Gibbs was shocked to find that the lore was true.

"Factoring in inflation and historical importance, a conservative estimate would be about five million," Carlin stated coolly.

Flabbergasted, Gibbs exhaled loudly and shook his head.

"Well, then we'd better get in position to intercept these guys," Gibbs noted, stalking towards the Charger for their impromptu stakeout. Behind the team leader, Ziva fell in step with Carlin. As they moved, she looked at him curiously, causing Leo to touch the back of his head.

"What's up, Ziva?"

"It is nothing." Still feeling her stare at him, Carlin raked a hand through his curly hair. Something was obviously troubling her.

"It must be something. You keep staring at me. Do I have something on my face?" Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his coat, he faced her. "Did I get it?"

"It is not that. When we met earlier, you stated that Tony _was _your friend. Why no longer?" With Leo claiming the backseat, the trio climbed into the Charger. Gibbs could see the earnest interest in the assassin's eyes and he had to admit that he was slightly curious too.

"It's a long story," Carlin explained, watching an insane jogger pass the car.

"We have the time," she shrugged, checking her watch to confirm there would still be hours before sunrise. Sighing, Carlin drank deeply from his coffee and let the silence set in. As Gibbs settled for the quiet, he could hear the detective shifting restlessly in the backseat.

_This was going to be a long morning. _

"Well, if you must know," he started, desperate for any distraction from the quiet, "I met my ex-wife while she was still dating Tony. Needless to say, he wasn't happy about it. We fought it out, but he transferred out of the precinct and I didn't hear from him again. Well, at least until yesterday. Though I've learned my lesson."

"It is good that you have learned from your mistakes," Ziva smiled, turning in her seat towards Leo.

"Yeah," he laughed, meeting Gibbs' eyes in the rear view mirror, "one ex-wife is enough."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:07am – unknown location –**

Back leaned against the wall, McGee winced as the handcuffs rubbed his raw wrists. He swallowed, trying to clear the dryness that burned his tongue. Not sure when he'd first woken up, he had spent every waking minute since combating the nausea. Breathing deeply, the junior agent lazily gazed out of the window. The darkness was melting away into morning. Vision still hazy, his head felt dull, letting him know he was still drugged. As he dropped his head to his hands, he desperately tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

_He had to wake up, he had to wake up. What the hell had been in the food last night? Did it even matter? He was still so tired.  
_

Sliding back down onto the bed, he finally decided that the need to rest his eyes outweighed his immediate need for escape. If his brain didn't work, there would be no formulating a new plan. All he needed was a few minutes, then he'd be ready to go.

_Just some precious rest, then he'd be able to figure out a way to find Tony and they could get out of here. _

Jolting awake, McGee nearly leapt off the bed. The handcuffs restricted his movement, he frowned at them. His eyesight no longer hazy, he sighed with relief and checked on the sun shining brightly outside the window.

_Just how long had he been asleep?_

Before he had a chance to come up with a plan, the door creaked open. McGee tensed, fearing the worst. When DiNozzo's head came into view, Tim grinned.

"Tony!"

Holding a finger to his lips, the senior agent peered over his shoulder. As he approached the bed, DiNozzo studied McGee closely.

_Making sure he wasn't hurt. _

"You okay, Probie?"

McGee nodded, taking in DiNozzo's rumpled suit and the dark circles under his eyes. When a bump sounded above, the senior agent jumped, turning back towards the door. Since Tim had barely ever seen Tony nervous, he began to feel edgy too.

"I'm okay. What about you, Tony?"

"Fine, they just ran out of coffee," DiNozzo quipped, spinning around as though he heard something in the hallway that McGee didn't.

"What's going on?"

"I'm heading back into the city with one of those guys in a few minutes. Get out of here as soon as it's clear." Retrieving a small key from his pocket, DiNozzo pressed it into McGee's hand and the junior agent's face appeared confused.

"But - ," McGee started, glancing from Tony's stressed face down to the key in his hand.

"Look, Tim," DiNozzo hissed. McGee's eyes snapped up at the infrequent use of his first name. "You _will _escape and you _will _find Gibbs. That's an order. Do I make myself clear?"

Realizing there was something DiNozzo hadn't told him, McGee nodded obediently.

"Yeah, Tony."

"_Be careful_. I'll follow when I can." With a tilt of his head, DiNozzo slunk back across the room. Before disappearing into the darkened hallway, Tony smiled his trademark grin and shot McGee a thumbs up. The door closed and he was gone.

Waiting in silence for several minutes, McGee turned the key over in his hand. When someone passed by the door, he hid the key under his leg and tried to decide when to make his escape.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**9:38am – Intersection of Market and Fifth Streets, Philadelphia, Pa. –**

In the passenger seat of a Kia Accent, DiNozzo anxiously waited as Hoodie maneuvered the vehicle through Olde City. It only took two trips around the block before the man claimed a great parking space on Arch Street, literally feet from the grave site.

"Well, that was lucky," the man murmured.

While Hoodie seemed to be having a good day so far, DiNozzo decided that he was certainly having a bad one. Trying to push the exhaustion from his eyes, he'd spent most of the previous night reading the centuries-old letters. Until damn near dawn, he, George and Hoodie had sat at that dining room table figuring out where those dead spies stashed their treasure. When he'd finally earned rest, he'd been forced to pass out on the floor which left his back tight. With his knees still aching from yesterday's run, he felt old beyond his years.

George's sudden change of heart about McGee didn't help the situation either. Right before Tony managed to sneak away, the spy leader had threatened to kill Tim if they didn't recover the treasure today. As he ran a hand over his face, DiNozzo wondered if he should have told McGee. Withholding the information from the younger man didn't seem right, but deep down he didn't want his junior agent to panic. That was the last thing McGee needed when he should be focusing on escape.

So now, DiNozzo readied himself to search Philadelphia for a long-lost treasure to prevent a madman from killing his partner.

_Yeah, th__ere was no pressure on him today. Absolutely none at all. _

Even if he did want to bolt, DiNozzo had no idea where the group was keeping McGee. When they'd left the farm earlier, he'd hoped that Hoodie's obvious lack of experience would lead him to make a mistake. DiNozzo would have taken anything use to his advantage. Unfortunately, the other man knew enough to blindfold the senior agent from the farm to the highway. So even if he did manage to find Gibbs and get a message out, there was no way for him to relay exactly where McGee was being held. All he knew was that they were about twenty minutes off 95 and north of the city. But he knew that information was decidedly not helpful.

Tim was entirely on his own to get out.

_It just didn't seem right. _

When Hoodie finally finished rereading the letters, he turned off the engine and glanced towards DiNozzo.

"Look, you know how this works, right?"

"I'm not in the habit of getting abducted, so why don't you fill me in?" DiNozzo growled, studying a mailbox outside the window.

"I have to check in with 711 every hour, on the hour. If I don't, he kills your partner," Hoodie explained, his voice low and practiced. "You do something wrong and I have to call him early, he kills your partner. I mean I really don't think 711 _will_ kill him, but let's not find out. How's that sound?"

"Just peachy," the agent smiled tightly, as Hoodie started to open the driver's door. "You know, I never had a chance to introduce myself. Special Agent Tony DiNozzo."

"Clint Eastwood," the other man replied, climbing out of the car when a pause in traffic allowed. With a frustrated sigh, DiNozzo scrambled out, shuddering when the cold air hit his face. As he trailed Hoodie towards the grave site's back entrance, he knew he'd have to play along with the spies until he knew McGee was safe.

_Visual confirmation was the only proof he'd accept. If he were lucky, Probie should be out of there by now. _

"So Dirty Harry, who's grave are we looking for?" Tony quipped, not seeing Hoodie exasperatedly roll his eyes. During the previous night's letter review, the other man had demonstrated an almost textbook knowledge of Revolutionary history and the Philadelphia landmarks. This led DiNozzo to conclude that the man was likely a local professor or librarian.

Pausing by the black iron gate, the agent studied the interior that he'd passed by so often without a second thought. Hundreds of pale white grave markers were haphazardly arranged across the site that spanned two city blocks. Enclosing the cemetery was a low brick wall and Tony could see heads bob as people passed. Thankfully, the space was devoid of tourists at the moment.

"One of the lawyers," Hoodie stated, stopping to review the mounted map by the gate.

"Can I see the letter?" DiNozzo asked, surprised when the man passed it to him without comment. Skimming the paper, he shook his head. "Look, I _still_ don't think it's on a lawyer's grave. Listen to this part. Culper wrote, 'I find it to be most curious that before the law and in death, we are very much the same.' I think the grave we're looking for is a normal man, located close to a lawyer."

"You feelin' lucky, punk?" Hoodie grinned, turning towards the graves. Caught off guard, Tony laughed genuinely as he followed the man to the far end of the cemetery. "Only lawyer's grave that would be old enough to match the dates on the letter is Matthew Hall's. He died in 1773."

"Right," Tony stated, tailing the other man while keeping his eyes alert. As they moved down the bricked walkway, a familiar brown ponytail was stooped over a tombstone. Rising, Ziva began to approach the pair. When DiNozzo shook his head, she dropped in front of another marker.

"It's over here," Hoodie said finally, leading them off the walkway towards one of the far walls. When they stopped in front of the large headstone, Tony skimmed the relatively boring epitaph that hailed Hall as the greatest lawyer to practice in Philadelphia in his forty-five short years. As the other man crouched down to clean some debris off the stone, Tony moved towards the other makers on his own hunch. With the other man engrossed in his activity, the agent pulled out the notepad that his captors had left behind and scribbled a quick note. Sliding it back into his pocket, he read several stones surrounding Hall's and sighed. They'd likely need more than just a few hours to comb through all of the stones and find the correct one.

Time was seemingly not on his side.

Trying to check as many headstones as possible, Tony quickly climbed through the area around Hall's stone. Suddenly, something sent him crashing to the ground. Rolling to his side, he looked to the object responsible for his tumble. Barely more than a few inches out of the ground, a diminutive memorial mocked him. Not bothering to rise, DiNozzo slid over to it and ran his hand over the white marble to remove the layers of grime left behind over the centuries.

_A. Miller, 1772. _There was nothing out of the ordinary about the stone until Tony noticed a small carving, mostly obscured by a few blades of grass.

Flattening himself against the ground, he pushed the vegetation out of the way and studied the carving. Almost immediately, he recognized a crude representation of Independence Hall. Though the numbers, _5 2 1, _carved next to it left him at a loss.

"Hey, Robert Kincaid, found something!" As he approached, Hoodie's face was a mixture of amusement, intrigue and annoyance. DiNozzo pulled himself to his feet, wiping the stray dirt on his suit pants.

"Really? Out of all of Eastwood's movies, you picked "The Bridges of Madison County'?"

As he gestured towards the stone with his foot, DiNozzo shrugged at the other man. "It seems like I'm not the only one here who's seen it."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**10:11am – Christ Church Cemetery – 475 Arch St. Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Crouched as though she were admiring a flower, Ziva kept her eyes fixed across the cemetery on DiNozzo. As she watched the senior agent move throughout the grave site, she couldn't believe how horrible he looked. Not that she would ever freely admit that he was attractive, his current appearance left a lot to be desired. With his hair protruding from his head at strange angles, his sharp suit was horribly wrinkled and his tie had vanished. What left her most concerned was the tension in his habitually easy and confident movements.

As he paused to read a gravestone, a clean-cut, middle-aged man took a place by his side. If it weren't for the large black eye, his dark hair and pale skin would render him relatively nondescript. Moving to a better vantage point by a grave marker, Ziva pressed on her earwig.

"Gibbs, when shall we approach?"

"Not yet, Ziva. DiNozzo called you off for a reason," the team leader growled in her ear.

"Does Carlin recognize the man?" Across the cemetery, a few tourists wander through the main entrance. The group started snapping pictures, excitedly pointing to different areas while they checked their map. Hoping they didn't interrupt her stakeout, she glanced back to DiNozzo and watched both men kneel to examine a low marker.

"No, he doesn't. Follow, but don't engage."

As DiNozzo and the other man rose, Ziva felt relieved when the tourists started back towards the main gate. Since Carlin and Gibbs were on the other side of the wall, she wondered if the team leader had a visual on Tony.

"Yes, Gibbs."

Rising from her spot, she tailed the pair onto the brick walkway and periodically paused to admire one of the marble memorials. Yards ahead of her, she saw DiNozzo drop a small piece of paper. Suppressing her urge to rush ahead and recover it, she meandered slowly and watched the two men converse. When she arrived at the paper, she stooped to pick it up, barely catching the man looking back at her. Dropping to her knees, she started to run her hand over the bricks. Ziva watched the man shake his head and make a comment to Tony, before they headed out of the cemetery.

"Gibbs, he uncovered me. They are headed to Arch Street on foot."

"Got it. We'll head them off." Standing, she unfolded the piece of paper and frowned when she read Tony's barely legible scrawl.

_Still have McGee, don't know where. Will kill him if I don't help. Contact when I can. _

"Gibbs," she whispered tensely, "Tony left a note that says the group will to kill McGee if they do not uncover the treasure. How shall we proceed?"

There was a loud growl, followed by a several imaginative curses.

"Guess we stay out of their way."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Author's Note 2.0 : **_Yes, in case you're wondering, the second half of this story is **very ****loosely **based on the movie : **National Treasure. **_**_  
_**


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's note :** _Thanks to everyone reading, favoriting and following. Big thanks to **DS2010, scousemuz1k, Love Live BRUCAS, angelscatie **and Guest - **AllyLitterNation **for the reviews. Really appreciate the thoughts on my progress. _

_Hope you enjoy!  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**10:22am – Unknown Location –**

Pushing to his knees, McGee listened hard for any movement outside the door. For the first time since Tony left, he heard nothing. Up until this point, the morning had been a constant flurry of activity with several people stopping by to check on him. In addition to George and Baseball Cap, he'd seen three new faces. With no one nearby, it was finally time to escape. As he released the handcuffs, he wondered just how many people comprised the group.

Climbing off the bed, he slid his shoes back on and decided where to head next. Originally, he'd wanted to copy Tony's plan and use the bed to smash the window. Though with so many new faces, he decided that he didn't need the extra attention. One against, at least, five weren't particularly favorable odds.

When he reached the door, McGee checked for movement again, knowing he'd only have one more chance. The last person to leave had left the door slightly open and he realized the good fortune this time. Sneaking into the hallway, he headed back towards the kitchen. Moving slowly on the balls of his feet, he sighed with relief when he reached the end without the antiquated floor protesting his weight. As he passed through the room, McGee checked for any discarded cell phones.

_Never know, he might get lucky twice. _

Not seeing one, he realized that he was completely on his own. Swallowing hard, he headed out the back door. As the cold air hit him, the agent hugged his arms to his body. The weather wasn't comfortable, but he'd survive. He just needed to figure out which direction to take.

As he slid to the edge of the house, McGee's vision flicked from the main road to the patch of forest edging the back fields. Biting his lower lip while he thought, McGee weighed his options. The road meant the best chance of finding another person, but also where he'd be expected to go. With the forest, there'd be less chance of being caught, but less chance of running into someone else.

When Tim heard tires approaching on the gravel driveway, he flattened himself against the wall, trying to ignore his racing pulse. As the car door slammed and a set of footsteps headed towards the house, he closed his eyes, hoping the newest arrival would enter through the front.

It wasn't until the front door banged that he finally started to breathe again.

Without any further hesitation, McGee sprinted towards the forest.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**10:31am – Just Outside Christ Church Cemetery – Philadelphia, Pa –**

"I can't believe we actually lost them. We were _so _close, " Carlin groused, while he and Gibbs trudged through the black metal gate.

Barely resisting the urge to hit him, Gibbs stepped away from Carlin so the detective was out of arms' reach. Clenching his teeth, he scanned the gravesite for Ziva. When he located her crouched over a headstone, he motioned for Leo to follow.

"Whaddya got?" he called as they approached.

"There is a carving on this stone."

Flattening the blades of grass, she gestured to the engraving and looked back at Gibbs. Not more than a few centimeters, the years had left the carving as a small depression in the marble. Without his glasses, Gibbs' eyes failed him and he squint, hardly making out the small building and numbers _5 2 1. _

"That mean anything to you, Carlin?"

Dropping to his hands and knees, Carlin studied the image for several moments. "Yeah, that's Independence Hall and it's right around the corner."

"That name or number mean anything?"

As he rose, brushing the dirt on his jeans, Carlin shrugged absently. "Not yet. Why don't we get over there and find out?"

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**11:02am – Independence Hall – 500 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. –**

In front of the massive brick structure, DiNozzo watched the group of tourists mill around the front steps, the sidewalk and every available inch of concrete excitedly snapping pictures of each other. Several feet away and out of earshot, Hoodie made his hourly phone call to update George on the progress.

Distracting distract himself from McGee's predicament, Tony tried to appreciate the imposing Gregorian architecture as he dropped his eyes to the stone steps. If he were honest, he didn't know anything about structural design. He'd taken a class on architecture at Ohio State for the attractive TA, but never actually attended class, only her office. Chasing _that_ memory from his head, DiNozzo focused on the bricks, stone and concrete.

It was the first time he'd ever stopped to study the building. When he resided in the city, he'd often pass it on patrol, never giving the structure a second glance. As the agent took in the steeple that stretched towards the cloudless sky, Hoodie approached and nodded towards Tony.

"Agent McGee's fine," he reported, Tony barely hid his disappointment.

"So what time is it?" DiNozzo asked, abruptly changing the topic.

Across the street, a familiar grey-haired figure stood watching. Squinting against the sun, DiNozzo instantly recognized Gibbs. When their eyes met, his boss nodded at him. Tony was finally able to swallow the lump in his throat.

_They'd figure this out. _

"Time for this tour to start!" exclaimed a bright female voice behind him. Whirling around, he had to drop his eyes until he located the extremely short, blonde woman wearing a colonial era dress. Smiling broadly, she pushed her way to the head of the group of tourists. "Welcome to Independence Hall, everyone! My name is Liz and I'm going to be your guide on this exciting tour through one of the most interesting parts of country's history."

As she excitedly continued her well-rehearsed spiel, DiNozzo tried not to laugh at the blank faces over the group. Leaning over towards Hoodie, he elbowed the man's ribs.

"Okay, Robert, what exactly are we looking for?"

"Actually, I'm not quite sure," the man replied, animatedly rolling his eyes.

Handing over their tickets, DiNozzo and Hoodie climbed the steps and passed through the large white door into the vestibule. As the group paused in the large, ornate receiving area, Liz enthusiastically recounted the history of the building's construction. At the edge of the tour, Tony scanned the walls for something out of the ordinary. On the other side of the room, Hoodie copied his motions.

"If you look ahead," Liz continued, pointed past the low archway, "you'll see where the Liberty Bell resided for many years. It's currently housed at a dedicated center located directly across the green from Independence Hall. Now for some of its fascinating tale, it didn't actually have the famous crack until - ."

While the group continued into the Tower Hall Stair, DiNozzo studied high facade of the arch and the interior of the room. Bumping Hoodie's arm, DiNozzo pointed at the stairs.

"Upstairs?"

"Doubt it," Hoodie countered. "I have a feeling it's down here somewhere."

With no ideas of his own, Tony followed the group back into the vestibule. Even though he drowned her out, he thought Liz might have said that upper floors were closed pending an intensive restoration project. As the tour continued into the Assembly Room, the look of sheer excitement on Hoodie's face surprised DiNozzo.

"Can you believe that 231 years ago, in this very room, the Second Continental Congress nominated George Washington as the Commander in Chief of the Continental Army?" Amongst the group, quiet murmurs filled Liz's dramatic pause. Sliding over to the wall, Tony started to examine the white crown molding that was built into it.

"Now just think," Liz continued, as DiNozzo moved towards the windows, "that this is where the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4, 1776. Imagine being one of those men. Imagine signing a paper for independence and knowing that if your country does not succeed, you have just signed your death warrant." With another dramatic pause, Liz closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "Now, please take your time to enjoy the very spot where our nation was born. I'll be here if you have questions."

As the group dispersed, some rushed towards the guide for more information. The rest flowed through the chairs that were set-up as though they awaited the delegates from the Continental Congress. Passing around the desks, Hoodie moved towards the front of the room where a president's high table sat elevated on a platform. Not sure where else to check, DiNozzo followed and turned the numbers over in his head.

_5 2 1, 5 2 1, 5 2 1, 5 2 1, what they hell did they mean? _

Pausing by the desk where Washington would have sat, Tony studied the crown molding that stretched to the ceiling. He felt something brush his arm, turning to find Hoodie staring intently at one of the fireplaces.

"I know where it is."

"Where?" DiNozzo asked quietly, not seeing the group mill towards the exit.

"Behind that fireplace's keystone," Hoodie explained, pointing. When DiNozzo raised his eyebrows, the other man sighed. "There's _five_ lines on the stone. The keystone is the central structure supporting the fireplace. It's _the one. _The two is for the _second_ fireplace, which _should_ be the one closest to the windows."

"Hey, you two, let's get a move on!" Liz bellowed from her spot by the arched doorway. Behind her, a few faces of the tour peered back into the Assembly Room at the stragglers. Quickly catching up with the group, they hopped through the chairs and tried to call no further attention to themselves.

"So how do we get it?"

"Just follow my lead, okay?" Hoodie ordered, stepping into the vestibule. When Liz became involved with explaining the enticing history of the Supreme Court room, DiNozzo and the other man hung back. It wasn't until Hoodie was sure they hadn't been missed from the group that they slipped back into the Assembly Room.

Just as Hoodie crossed the threshold again, a large security guard appeared from nowhere. His polite smile didn't match the anger in his eyes as he glared at the pair.

"The group went that way, _sirs."_

"I - . Well, uh - ," Hoodie started, obviously floundering.

"My friend thought he dropped his reading glasses," DiNozzo laughed tensely, rolling his eyes and making a 'he's so vain' face. "He doesn't want anyone to know he's old enough to wear them."

Crossing his arms, the security guard appeared unconvinced and stepped forward. "Well, I'll help if you need it."

Glancing over his shoulder, Hoodie's eyes met Tony's and the agent nodded his head.

The other man lashed out, shoving the security guard back into the vestibule. Slamming the door closed, he turned the primitive lock and slid one of the chairs under the doorknob.

"Hey, you in there! _Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" _

"Make sure he doesn't get in," Hoodie ordered, pointing towards the door. Tony sprinted across the room, colliding with the door. On the other side, he could hear the guard trying to gain entry. Already by the fireplace, Hoodie reached under his jacket, pulling out a knife from a sheath hidden at the small of his back. Feeling slightly impressed, DiNozzo watched him start chipping away at the mortar around the keystone. There was a slight pause in the banging on the solid wood door before two distinct sets of pounding started again.

"Sirs," the guard warned, "if you do not open the door, I'll be forced to call the police."

Glancing exasperatedly across the room, Tony motioned for other man to hurry his destruction of the antique fireplace. Face flushed from effort and good eye tense, Hoodie glared back at the agent.

The lock disengaged and the door opened slightly before DiNozzo forced it closed.

"Hurry on, man!" Tony urged. "They're coming."

When the door bounced open, pushing the chair away, Tony slammed his weight against it and shoved the chair back under the handle. With no traction on the soles of his shoes, he slid across the smooth, hardwood floor every time the guards gained purchase. As the door inched, DiNozzo fought to keep his footing.

"_Almost there, just don't let them in,_" Hoodie yelled, eyes fixed on the fireplace. When the door opened, DiNozzo could see the angry face of the security guard in the crack. Throwing his weight against it, he felt it hid something before closing. With his heart pounding, Tony could hear the guard yelling something unintelligible at him from the other side.

_He was pretty sure he'd never been called that before. _

"Alright, got it," Hoodie grunted, gently dropping the keystone and removing a small leather pouch from its place. As he replaced keystone, the man looked past DiNozzo at the door. Clutching the pouch, the man glanced from the door to the window. From the tension on his face, Tony could read his mind.

_The door was the only way out. _

Slamming the door closed again, DiNozzo clicked the lock back into placed. The security guards cursed vehemently. Grabbing one of the tables, he pushed it against the door and hoped that it would hold for the few minutes they needed to escape.

As he sprinted across the room, the guards still fumbled to gain entry. Without checking the window for a latch, Hoodie grabbed the closest chair, slamming it through the antique glass. Tony watched dumbfounded while Hoodie smoothed the glass before jumping to the ground. When he'd finally recovered, DiNozzo hauled himself over the ledge and dropped to the brick sidewalk.

Sprinting away from Independence Hall, he didn't feel relieved until they were halfway down Sixth Street. Though he just knew somewhere George Washington was rolling in his grave.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**11:35am – Outside Independence Hall – Philadelphia, Pa. – Concurrent With DiNozzo's Great Escape –**

Across the street from Independence Hall, Gibbs stared at the building as though he could see through its walls. Nervously pacing the length of the street, Carlin passed in front of him as they waited for Tony to re-emerge from the building.

"What do you think they're doing?"

Suppressing an urge to head slap the detective, the team leader ignored him. He'd lost count of how many times Leo had asked the same question. If Gibbs knew the answer, he'd have said told Carlin.

_Maybe it was time to make something up, just to shut him up. _

Growling, Gibbs moved away from Leo as he tried to get another vantage point through one of the windows. He thought he heard muffled shouts starting inside the building. The team leader knew there was only one person who could elicit that reaction within minutes.

_Damn it, DiNozzo, what the hell are you doing now? _

"Gibbs," Ziva alerted him through the earwig.

"Heard 'em. I'm not deaf, Ziver."

Jogging across the street, Gibbs headed towards the building with Carlin tailing. When they approached, the shouts increased. Just as the team leader was about to enter the building, a chair whizzed out of one of the stately windows. Before it hit the ground, the man followed, sprinting off towards the historic district. He froze in disbelief.

"Ziva, they're exiting the building, southwest window. Pursue, but maintain visual contact only."

"Yes, Gibbs."

Shortly after the man, DiNozzo flew out of the window, landing hard. He stumbled a few times before regaining his footing and bolting. Breaking into a run himself, Gibbs followed the pair. Figuring they were too involved in their escape to notice a tail, the team leader tried to stay close. Gibbs and Leo kept up until their targets darted into traffic just as a light changed.

When cars began moving through the crosswalk, Leo grabbed Gibbs' arm to prevent him from rushing into the street. Helplessly watching the back of his senior agent vanish up the street, the team leader turned to face the detective. Eyes murderous, he grabbed Leo by the collar of his shirt.

"What the _hell _was that, Carlin?"

"You're not good to them dead, Gibbs," Leo explained, pulling against Gibbs' grasp. As the team leader readied to pummel Carlin, Ziva appeared. Breathlessly, she pushed Carlin out of Gibbs' hands.

With Ziva between them, both men squared their shoulders and stared at each other. Rage flowed freely through Gibbs' veins and he knew they may have lost their only chance to find McGee and Tony alive. Breathing heavily, Gibbs clenched his teeth and looked back to where he'd last seen Tony. As he leaned over Ziva's shoulder, he jabbed a finger inches from Carlin's face.

"You'd better _pray _nothing happens to _my_ agents."


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer : Still own nothing, but my OCs. Yeah, don't own Starbucks either.  
**

**Author's note : **_As always, thank you for reading, favoriting and following the story. Also, extra big thanks for **mamamia1964, scousemuz1k, Long Live BRUCAS, RJane's Vindication, Precious Pup, **and **angelscatie **for taking the time to leave me a review. I really do appreciate reading your thoughts. _

___A couple reviews gave me some inspiration to rewrite the epilogue and tweak a few parts of the story. So thanks guys. _

_Started another big story today, so I'm pretty excited to get back into writing again.  
_

_Hope you're enjoying.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**11:48am – Corner of Sixth and Market Streets – Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Following their narrow escape from the security guards at Independence Hall, DiNozzo and Hoodie had navigated the narrow side streets. At the moment, they waited for the light to change so they could continue down Market Street. Wiping the sweat from his brow, DiNozzo turned away from the street as a police car sped past them.

DiNozzo could sympathize with Harrison Ford in 'The Fugitive,' except his one armed man was a secret society of spies. If he were arrested, he wasn't sure anyone would buy a 'the spies made me do it' defense and he didn't feel like jumping off a dam any time soon.

When the light finally changed, he fell in step with Hoodie, heading down Market without any real destination.

"We need to get off the street. Someone might recognize us," Tony stated, glancing behind him in hopes of seeing his boss. When he didn't see Gibbs or Ziva, his heart sank.

Nodding, Hoodie pointed at a Starbucks. As they passed into the deserted coffee shop, the heat warmed Tony's frozen cheeks. He smiled at the pretty, teenaged barista.

"What can I get you guys?" she cooed, batting her eyes at Tony.

"Grande, quad-shot, no foam, stirred skinny latte," the agent ordered, glancing towards Hoodie.

"Medium coffee, black," the man said, moving towards an isolated table.

"Sir," the barista called, "we don't have medium. We only have tall, grande, or venti. What size would you prefer?"

"Whatever one is in the middle," he barked, dropping the leather envelope on the table as Tony smiled apologetically.

"Grande, black." As she started to ask him another question, he nodded. "Names for the cups are Tony and Bob."

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the money left over from the tickets. After their drinks were done, he took a deep sip of his latte. Heading over to the table, he fell into a chair and passed Hoodie his cup. On the table, the man had his hand on the small folded leather pouch. Noticing the name on his coffee, he made a face at Tony.

"Really?"

As Hoodie started to open the leather envelope, Tony grabbed his arm.

_"What time is it?" _

Checking his watch, Hoodie grimaced and pulled out his phone. When he headed outside, Tony slid the pouch open, keeping an eye out for Hoodie's return. Expecting to find some sort of treasure inside, his face fell when he saw only a small piece of folded, aged paper.

_This still wasn't over? _

As Tony slid the page out, Hoodie slid back into his chair. Nodding towards the paper, he looked questioningly at DiNozzo.

"Agent McGee's fine. What's that?"

Skimming the words, Tony sighed heavily and shook his head. "This letter's the only thing in there."

"You sure?" The other man asked, sounding suspicious.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Tony said, rereading the letter. Dated January 18 1777, the author wrote about the British occupation of Philadelphia and its toll on the colonial forces' morale. In a desperate attempt to keep their spoils safe, the author wrote that he'd taken them to his home and hidden them somewhere safe. It was signed by Samuel Bryant. New numbers were written out in careful script across the bottom, _22 12 9. _

Passing the newest letter to Hoodie, Tony took a deliberate sip of his coffee while he watched the other man read it. Running a hand over his face, the man's features turned from confused to angry.

"Alright, Robert," Tony said, trying not to laugh when the man rolled his eyes, "now what?"

With a sigh, Hoodie glanced out the window and watched two uniformed policemen strolling past.

"Considering the quality of the work with the keystone, you couldn't even tell that it was a later addition. So I'm going to assume that Bryant might have been a stonemason. Using that," he gestured wildly, "I think those new numbers probably are bricks again. Just finding the place where he lives is going to be, interesting."

"Do you have any idea where they keep those records?" Tony asked, draining his cup and looking back towards the barista.

_Did he have time for another one? _

Conflict passed over Hoodie's face and he nodded grimly. "Yeah, yeah, I know exactly where to find them."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**12:06pm – Somewhere in the Woods, North of Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Arms wrapped tightly to his chest, Tim McGee attempted to protect himself from the frigid air. With no coat to defend against the weather, he had to admit that he was freezing.

Alive and free, but freezing.

When he first burst into the forest, he'd been certain that it was only a small patch of trees that served as a barrier between properties. Though as he continued to move through the area, he feared that it might actually be a rather sizable tract of land.

Raising his hands, he blew on them and tried to thaw his frozen fingers. Even though they'd lost sensation a little while ago, he still hoped to ward off frostbite.

With a defeated sigh, he paused against a tree and ran his hand through his hair. Despite having a small breakfast earlier, his head still felt heavy. He wondered if it could be from the elements or a leftover effect from whatever drug he'd consumed the previous night.

Sliding down the tree, McGee slumped to the frozen ground for a few minutes' rest. Distracting himself himself from the cold, he tried to determine the tree's species based on its bark. As he ran his icy fingers over it, he felt a clean cut deep into the tree, almost like someone had been using a knife.

Feeling suddenly hopefully, the agent checked the surrounding ground for footprints. Right by where he sat, there was a slight depression of a boot print about the size of his own foot. Split between dead leaves and dirt, the print appeared to be relatively fresh.

_Probably a hiker or a hunter out in the woods. _

Shooting to his feet, McGee changed his course and started off in the direction that the print pointed. He only hoped that he'd find the person who made it before he ran out of time.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**12:12pm – Unknown Location, Somewhere North of Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Humming quietly to himself, Henry Watkins dropped two pieces of bread onto a paper plate. Reaching for a package of lunch meat on the counter, he smiled broadly and assembled a sandwich.

_After all these years, he couldn't believe the day was here. He'd finally get to cash out his retirement. _

His entire quest started several years ago over drinks in a dive bar. A fellow professor, who'd consumed far too many beers, recounted a story about a collection of jewels that supposedly disappeared from a ship during the Boston Tea Party in 1773. Assuming his friend to be just drunk, Watkins actually had scoffed when he'd learned that a group of Revolutionary era spies were responsible for the heist.

Even though he was skeptical, Watkins took his time to research the conversational topic. He'd been shocked to find out that the jewels existed and that they were valued well into the millions. From his research on the historical movement of the group, he'd determined the likely location of the gems to be within the historical section of Philadelphia.

As a city native, he'd used a year's sabbatical from his professorship to comb the city archives, visit landmarks, and talk to other historians to piece together the jewels' path. With no headway, Watkins had realized he needed assistance for the recovery.

Being slightly dramatic in nature, Watkins determined the only logical way to recover the jewels would be to create his own secret society comprised of the spies' progeny. Surely, people who could link their ancestry to the time period would likely be interested in the search and may possess family heirlooms that could be used. Not to mention, he'd always wanted to be the leader of his own secret club.

It'd taken some creative forgery on his part to create a plausible explanation for himself to lead the group. With no connection to the Culper group himself, Watkins had forged documents to show that he was an illegitimate descendent of the group's leader, George Washington.

Shrugging as he flattened the pieces of bread, he couldn't recall why he'd chose the country's founding father. He'd probably figured that no one would question his authority with that pedigree. To this day, not a single person had pressed about his 'credentials.'

Adding an open bag of chips to the plate, Watkins smiled smugly. While his plan could be called complex and almost theatrical, he must admit that it came together quite nicely. Well, it had been until those federal agents showed up a few days ago. When he learned that 452 had picked one up in a moment of stupidity, Henry had been forced to adapt.

While Watkins had been enraged with the hiccup at first, it was proving fortuitous that the agents came along. Carrying the sandwich out of the kitchen, he had to admit that he was surprised by the loud one. When they'd brainstormed over the dinner table the previous night, DiNozzo had produced several important ideas of his own. Even more impressive were the hourly reports from 452, the pair had gotten further than Watkins had predicted.

As he headed into the hallway towards the spare room housing Agent McGee, Watkins ran his hand over the back of his head. Perhaps his earlier threat to kill the younger man was a tad brash. He'd only delivered it to ensure Agent DiNozzo's continued cooperation during the hunt. Even though he had no intention on acting on the threat, he was quite certain that Agent DiNozzo had believed him. After years of searching, Watkins had to be sure _nothing_ would stop him from recovering those jewels. He deserved the retirement he planned.

Pulling open the door to the spare room, he thought of everything he would purchase when he fenced the collection.

"Hungry, Agent McG - , " he started, the greeting dying in his throat when he noticed the empty bed and room. Flinging the plate against the wall behind him, he didn't see its contents slide limply down the wall.

_"318! 145! 591! 554!" _he bellowed, listening to the sound of hurried footsteps approaching.

Peering into the hallway, 145 rushed forward, his young face tight with concern.

"Sir?" Clenching his teeth, Watkins pointed through the open door and 145 stepped into the room, stupidly looking towards the ceiling. "Where'd Agent McGee go?"

Snarling, Watkins glared from 145 back to the rest of his recently arrived, wide-eyed men.

"_He's gone._ _Find him and bring him back. Now." _


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer : Still own nothing but those darn typos and OCs.  
**

**Warnings : Tony has a dirty mind.  
**

**Author's note :** _Thanks to everyone reading, favoriting and following so far. As always, extra thanks are in order for** scousemuz1k, Long Live BRUCAS, angelscatie **and **RJane's Vindication. **I appreciate the comments and enjoy seeing what you think! _

_Longer one today.  
_

_Hope you enjoy!  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**12:31pm – Philadelphia Free Library, Independence Branch, Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Standing in front of the aging exterior of the Philadelphia Free Library, DiNozzo felt like he'd just stepped off a time machine into the era of bellbottoms and disco. As he glanced questioningly at Hoodie, he wondered how the 'I' hadn't killed a passing pedestrian yet.

"You sure the information is here?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure," the other man grimaced, motioning for the agent to follow. Heading towards the mid-last-century glass door, Hoodie pushed it open and didn't seem fazed when it screeched loudly. As Tony passed through it, the overworked heater blasted hot air in his face. By the time he moved through the interior door, he was sweating profusely. Smelling nothing but must and heat, he was shocked to see how desperately the library needed an update for the new century.

"Come on." With a wave of his hand, Hoodie led DiNozzo into the library.

As they passed by the front desk, an attractive brunette popped up from behind the paneled wood. Recognition passed over her face and before Hoodie could stop her, she grinned.

_"Noah Porter. Is that you?!" _

The pair paused, Tony glancing from the young woman back to Hoodie, well, Porter. Without missing a beat, Noah smiled nervously. "Been a while, huh, Sheila. How're things?"

"They've been good. Holy crap, what happened to your face?" she asked, pointing at his blackened left eye.

Shrugging, he laughed and ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Said the wrong thing to the wrong guy, I guess. You know Jets' fans."

"So what brings you back down here, Noah? Didn't you transfer to Central last month?" With a disinterested nod, her eyes flicked to Tony.

"Actually, it was three months ago. Just back to look up something in the archives," he explained, gesturing to Tony. "My friend is writing a book about the colonial history of the city."

"Really?" Sheila's attention turned to Tony, grinning excitedly. "Sheila Woodbridge. And you are - ?"

"Tony Di – Nardo, author extraordinaire," Tony smiled, watching her lean forward to shake his hand. From the angle, he could see a bit under her shirt and didn't even try to avert his eyes.

_A little distraction was good for the soul. _

Before he had a chance to move her along, Sheila leaned further across the counter, twirling a section of hair through her fingers. "So what's the book about, Mr. DiNardo?"

Smoothing out his suit jacket, Tony let out a nervous laugh when he realized he knew absolutely nothing about colonial history.

"Uh - , well, it's about these guys who - ."

"Figures this guy wouldn't want to give away his plot," Porter laughed heartily, thumping Tony's back, "It's about the evolution of local architecture during the colonial era and how it was influenced by the Revolutionary War. You really think _she's_ going to steal your idea?" Caught off-guard by the specificity of Porter's plot, DiNozzo shrugged.

Raising her eyebrows, Sheila let out a low whistle.

"Sounds _fascinating. _Perhaps you could tell me all about it over dinner?"

Running a hand over his face, DiNozzo watched Porter check his watch. "Sure, how about we make plans after Noah and I check out the archives?"

"Absolutely," she smiled, brightly and sliding back into her seat. "Noah, you remember where the archives are, right?"

"Yeah, I only worked here for five years," Porter growled, though Sheila was too busy beaming at Tony to notice.

As the two headed through the metal bookcases to the far end of the library, DiNozzo raised his eyebrows at Porter.

"Nice save with that book plot." When they hit the stairs, Noah glanced back at Tony and shook his head.

Swiftly descending the stairs in silence, Tony started to wonder why Porter had suddenly gone taciturn. Sure his secret identity was revealed, but DiNozzo would have figured that out eventually.

Something else was going on. When they hit the basement level, Porter paused by the door and shook his head again.

"That's a real book," he explained quietly. "_I _wrote it two years ago. It's in the library's general circulation and I told Sheila about it when I asked her out."

"How'd that go?" Tony asked, before he could stop himself.

The broken look on the other man's face told him everything that he needed to know.

"Ever feel like you're doing the same thing over and over again?" Noah started, heading into the archive room.

"Groundhog Day," Tony supplied, nodding and glancing through the basement with wall-to-wall metal shelving units full of books. When Porter shot him a quizzical look and started towards one of the dark aisles, Tony's face fell. "Bill Murray, Andie MacDowell, 1993. Guy keeps waking up again and again on Groundhog Day."

When Porter shrugged, DiNozzo's frown deepened.

"Well, anyway. I guess my life has felt like that movie you're talking about. Same thing every day. Work, home, write, sleep. Every day went on like that for years until I read about the Culper spies and figured out that one of my ancestors belonged to the group." Pulling a large book off a shelf, Noah sank to the floor and started reading one of the pages.

Feeling confused, Tony watched the man start leafing through the pages again. "What are you getting at, Porter?"

"I guess I'm sorry for the mess," Noah said, glancing up, his cheeks flushed. "My life needed a little excitement. I just never thought - ."

"That you'd be in the basement of your old work with a federal agent, who's sort of your hostage, looking for the address where some guy hid a treasure almost three hundred years ago?" Tony summarized, crossing his arms and leaning against a bookshelf. Through his coat, he could feel the frigid metal on his shoulder.

Closing the book, Porter silently climbed to his feet and brushed the dust off his jeans. As he reached for another book, he smiled tightly at Tony.

"Yeah, something like that."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**1:13pm – Independence Hall – 500 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Growling, Gibbs watched the Philadelphia LEOs secure the crime scene in the Assembly Room of Independence Hall. Only DiNozzo could figure out a way to destroy a historical landmark and vanish into thin air. Shaking his head, the team leader glanced at the overturned chairs, wrecked fireplace and smashed window. Across the room, Carlin was animatedly yammering at a uniform who photographed the window.

For a second, Gibbs regretted sending Ziva on an impromptu foot patrol around the neighborhood. Crossing paths with DiNozzo and that man seemed like a longshot. Unfortunately, it seemed like all they had were longshots.

Running a hand over his face, Gibbs pulled out his cell phone and ducked under the crime scene tape. Sliding into the vestibule, he dialed Abby's number and narrowed his eyes at an approaching uniform. With a nervous smile, the young man hustled past.

The pulsing music came over the line, followed by her throaty voice. "Gibbs! How are Tony and McGee?"

"Abs, I haven't talked to - ."

"_Gibbs," _she wailed. "I know haven't talked to them, so you can't know exactly. But you always know, like in your gut you know. I think they're okay, but I don't know. You have to know that - ."

"Abs," he interrupted, trying not to let frustration creep into his voice. She couldn't help the reaction, but he didn't need the added tension. "They're _okay._ Did you run that search yet?"

"But do you _know _they're okay?" When he didn't answer her question, he heard her sigh quietly. As he ran a hand over his face, she started clicking her mouse frantically. "Well, Gibbs, it doesn't work the way you think. I can't just run facial recognition software through surveillance cameras and get a hit. It's only reliable if the person is looking directly at the camera and - ."

"You got something or not?" Watching Carlin approach, Gibbs glared at the detective.

"Of course, I do. I checked all the surveillance cameras that I could access in that section of Philadelphia. Last time I picked up Tony and that guy on a video feed was about an hour ago. It looks like they're leaving a Starbucks. I didn't even know Tony liked - ."

"Any hits on that guy he's with, Abs?" A few more clicks over the line and Gibbs heard ice sloshing. Rolling his eyes, he instantly knew he found his secret stash of his bulk-purchased CafPows.

_Definitely time for a new hiding spot when he got back, did that stuff even need to be refrigerated? _

"No can do, Bossman," she explained. "This guy's either good or really lucky. He's been _just_ out of the frame in every single camera. All I can see is Tony."

"Thanks, Abs. We'll be back soon."

Just as he was about to flip the phone closed, he heard her hazard. "Promise?"

"Promise," he vowed, the tenderness in his voice surprising him. When he noticed Carlin's amused smile, he narrowed his eyes, slamming the phone shut. "Whaddya got, Leo?"

"Seems like whoever it was," he shrugged, both men eyeing a passing uniform, "came through the door and removed the keystone from second fireplace. Based on the discoloration on the back of the stone, it appears that something may have been hidden in a space behind it. Since security tried to gain entrance through the door, the perps were forced to escape out the window. There's no video cameras so we only have eye witness statements."

Slightly relieved, Gibbs motioned for Carlin to follow him outside. Pausing momentarily to wave at one of the cops, Leo jogged to catch Gibbs. Exiting into the frigid air, Gibbs dropped his voice. "Abby has video of DiNozzo and that dirtbag leaving a Starbucks, let's go."

As Gibbs stalked off towards Market Street, Carlin whistled and pointed in the opposite direction. Narrowing his eyes at the detective, the team leader abruptly changed his course.

"So what do they think?"

"They're chalking it up to someone disturbing the peace," Leo said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. "If it comes back on Tony, I'll make sure to bury it."

Meeting Carlin's eyes, Gibbs nodded his thanks. As he watched the other man glance out at traffic, the team leader pulled out his cell phone, dialing Ziva's number.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo_

**2:07pm – Philadelphia Free Library, Independence Branch, Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Sitting cross-legged on the floor between two large piles of archived records, DiNozzo skimmed through the large book that weighed heavy on his lap. Flipping through the colonial records, he reviewed the scores of baptisms, marriages, and funerals. All he needed was one address for one man.

_Why was this so hard? _

As he slammed the book closed, it kicked up a dust cloud. When his sneezing fit finally ended, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and made a face. So far, the search was turning out to be a hunt for, as Ziva would say, hay in a needlestack.

With a quiet sigh, he grabbed another book from the pile that Porter had assembled earlier. As he pulled it onto his lap, it occurred to him that he hadn't seen the other man for quite some time. Peering out into the aisle, DiNozzo frowned when he realized that he was still alone.

_Figures that he managed to get left to do the heavy lifting. _

Time passed slowly as Tony flipped through the aging pages of the book. Running his hand through his hair, he slid the book into the discarded records pile. Behind him, he heard a set of heavy footsteps approaching.

Turning his head towards Porter, his ears perked up at the expectation of the typical hourly report. Even though the words never changed, Tony found comfort in the updates on McGee. When he noticed the other man's pale face, DiNozzo's stomach dropped.

"That took a while," he stated, feigning nonchalance. Not responding, Porter stepped over the stacks of books and DiNozzo's legs before sinking to the floor. His eyes were fixed on the bookshelves, but Tony couldn't miss the harrowed look on his face.

"Porter? Is everything okay?" he asked, tension creeping into his voice. Several silent moments passed. Porter swallowed audibly.

"I can't get reach 711," he explained, haunted eyes rising to meet DiNozzo's. "I called him six times. Six times, but he's not answering. I was early. I always call early."

Porter's eyes dropped to the books and DiNozzo ran a hand over his face. There were two very different scenarios and both made him sick. _Either McGee escaped and they found out. Or - . _

Shaking his head, there was no other scenario. His junior agent followed orders and the group was hunting him.

"We need to get back to that house now," Tony started, jumping to his feet. "If you can't reach - ."

"We can't go back," Porter stated, wringing his hands. "If they moved him, we'll lose time. This isn't over until we find that treasure. That's the only way they'll let Agent McGee go."

Crouching, DiNozzo reached for one of the books and thrust it into Porter's lap. As the other man looked up questioningly, Tony's features turned angry and he stabbed his finger at the book.

"_You find that damn address now. Then you call George or 711 or whoever the hell that guy is and you tell him where he can find his treasure."_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo_

**2:21pm – Somewhere in the Woods, North of Philadelphia, Pa. –**

When a sudden cold wind blew, Tim McGee shivered violently. Crossing his arms tighter to his chest, he desperately tried not to think about the temperature. Heeding the loss of sensation in his hands as a warning, he knew he desperately needed to find help soon. His light dress shirt and suit pants left him ill-equipped to spend any significant time outdoors.

As he continued through the forest, he wasn't exactly sure in which direction he headed. When he'd seen the footprint on the ground earlier, he'd altered his path without a second thought.

He glanced towards the sun, trying to use its course to determine his own. From his approximation, he seemed to be following its direction so he must be moving west? Or was it northwest? With a defeated sigh, he ran his hand through his hair and shook his head.

_Direction didn't matter without a destination._

Crouching, he examined the ground for any sign of the hunter he'd been tracking. He seemed to have lost the path a quarter mile back or so. Up until that point, the tracks had been consistent in the same direction. Without any other idea, he decided to follow the path that the last footprints pointed.

_Why would a person change their course after traveling more than a mile this way? _

Pressing his hand to the ground, he noticed only deer tracks and clenched his teeth. The hunter's prey came this way so he figured that the pursuer would as well. As he rose, he rubbed the dirt on his pants and looked around the forest. He saw the same thing in every direction : trees, trees and more trees.

_Maybe he'd made the wrong choice for his escape. _

Somewhere nearby, McGee thought he heard a twig snapping. As he held his breath, he listened hard for any movement. Just when he thought he'd hallucinated, there was another crack and two sets of approaching footsteps.

"You think we're heading in the right direction?"

"Probably, there's a footprint a few feet back. Not many people wear those fancy office shoes in the woods," another answered, laughing quietly. "He couldn't have gotten much further."

Tim swallowed hard. Ducking behind the nearest tree, McGee held his breath. With his heart hammering, he feared even an exhalation would alert his hunters.

_How had they known he'd headed into the woods? _

"Yeah, at least his tracks are easy to follow."

McGee cursed silently, pressing his head against the rough exterior of the tree. In his haste, he'd blasted into the woods and figured that no one would follow him there. Inhaling sharply, the agent could hear the men shifting through the leaves on the ground as they sought out more tracks. He only hoped they didn't realize just how close he was.

"Come on, let's catch up to him. He's got to be around here somewhere," the first voice growled.

McGee heard the men start moving away from him. When he was finally sure that they were far enough away not to hear him, he exhaled loudly and slid down the tree. After breathing hard for several moments, he pushed off to head in the opposite direction.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer : Still own nothing, but seasons 1 - 5 on DVD and all my OCs.  
**

**Author's note :** _As always, thanks to everyone who's read, favorited, PM'd and followed this story so far. Extra thanks to **Rogue Tomato, Ancaroch, scousemuz1k, Long Live BRUCAS, angelscatie, RJane's Vindication **and **Guest - bookworm4hire **for leaving me reviews. I appreciate your time and it's great to see your thoughts on the story. _

_To answer **bookworm4hire's **question about Tony whump, soon. We've got 4 more chapters after this one and an epilogue. It'll be somewhere in there, but that's it for spoilers!  
_

_I'll shoot for Saturday, but I make no promises.  
_

_Hope you enjoy this one.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**2:43pm – Philadelphia Free Library, Independence Branch, Philadelphia, Pa. –**

With yet another book in his lap, Tony DiNozzo watched the words on the page in front of him blur together. Sighing, he rubbed his hands over his face. The hours of reading were causing the curved script and old printings to twist together. As he glanced back to the page, the dark brown ink melted into the aged paper. Blinking hard, he tried to refocus his vision on the pile of books stacked next to him.

_Now was not the time to get tired. All they needed was an address. _

Several feet away, Noah Porter stood, leaning against one of the long metal bookshelves that edged the aisle. In his hands, he skimmed a volume's pages quickly. With his good eye squinted determinedly at the paper, DiNozzo could only hope the man was having better luck.

When he reached the final page, Tony closed the book with a resounding finality. Climbing to his feet, he dropped the volume to the floor with a dull thud. Before grabbing another, he stretched aggressively, listening to his back pop in response. Crouching, he sought another tome.

"Don't bother," Porter ordered, looking over his page.

"What? Why?" Tony asked, eyes meeting Porter's.

"Found the address." Porter tapped a page in his book with a triumphant smile. "Well, I found a rental agreement between an S. Bryant and Thomas Wells for an undisclosed sum during the year of 1777. It's - ."

Shaking his head in frustration, DiNozzo frowned deeply. "_Focus_, Porter, where's the treasure?"

"Only a few blocks from here on Elfreth's Alley, house 108. You have no idea how lucky we are," Porter explained, following Tony as the agent rushed into the stairwell. "Houses on that street have been randomly torn down and rebuilt over the centuries. House 108 is one of the originals. It's - ." As Tony climbed the stairs two at a time, he stopped paying attention to Porter's lengthy explanation.

_The man was more verbose than Ducky, if that was even possible. _

When they hit the first floor, Tony kicked the door open, storming out into the stacks. Ignoring the wide-eyed glances from patrons, DiNozzo's attention was retrieving the treasure and exchanging it for McGee. Feet pounding on the threadbare carpet, he stalked across the library. As he stormed past the front desk, Sheila smiled brightly and waved at him but he stormed forward. Barreling through the front door, DiNozzo didn't stop until he hit the sidewalk outside. Whirling around, he faced Noah and pointed at the other man's chest.

_"Call him and tell him." _

Holding his hands up in surrender, Porter nodded slowly. Pulling out his phone, Noah punched a speed dial button. Concern washed over the other man's face. Not wanting to watch the call, Tony felt the tension clench his stomach as he glanced out at the passing cars.

"711?" Porter started, relief evident on his features. DiNozzo looked hopefully at Noah. "What happened to you earlier? I called, did you - ? _Oh, thank G-d_. Well, we know where it is. House 108 in Elfreth's Alley. When will you get it? Oh - ? Well, I understand."

Porter motioned for Tony to follow as he set off in the direction of Second Street. "Porter, what's going on? What happened to George earlier? _Is Tim - ?"_

DiNozzo couldn't bring himself to say the word.

"Agent McGee's fine. 711's phone was out of range. Apparently, there's a dead spot in the house. 711 gave him a pass on the late phone call since we're so close. He wants us to retrieve the jewels and we'll schedule a meet for the exchange." Turning around, Noah continued in the direction he'd started earlier.

Pulling his coat closer to himself, DiNozzo watched Noah's back for a few seconds. With a disappointed sigh, he figured his junior agent hadn't been able to escape. Burying his hands into his pockets, he started off after Porter and only hoped they'd be able to decipher their last clue.

_It was time to end this. _

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**3:38pm – Somewhere in the Woods, North of Philadelphia, Pa. –**

As he progressed through the woods, Tim McGee had methodically covered his tracks so the Culper group couldn't follow him. Purposefully moving slowly, he'd stopped to check nearly every step. If a footprint was left in the partially frozen ground, he'd covered it with leaves or brushed the dirt away. Every broken twig was carefully swept into the underbrush. Unfortunately, his near invisibility had taken its toll on his ground speed.

Feeling certain that he'd effectively evaded his pursuers, McGee grinned. Terror quickly replaced the relief when the agent realized the grimness of his current predicament. Sighing quietly, he ran a hand over his face. With night coming shortly, he debated about his next course of action.

_Maybe find shelter?_

Pressing onward, Tim felt comfortable enough to abandon his track clearing. It was necessary that he move faster to find somewhere safe to survive the night. Wrapping his arms to his chest again, McGee found his way into a break in the trees.

Nearby, a small herd of deer grazed and the agent froze, enthralled by the animals. One of them raised its head, flicking its tail to alert the group of a potential problem. Gazes locked for several long moments, the deer and McGee stood stock still, studying each other. Finally deeming the man no threat, the animal dropped its head back to the grass. Continuing to marvel at the creatures, Tim tried to remember the last time he'd had a chance to enjoy nature.

_Not that getting abducted and then lost in the woods was what he'd consider an opportunity to appreciate the outdoors._

While the agent lost himself in thought, the deer's heads lifted as they surveyed the area around them. Suddenly, the herd dispersed into the woods and the agent watched their white warning signs vanish into the foliage.

His ears perked when he heard a twig snap directly behind him. Whirling around, he was just in time to see Baseball Cap step into the clearing. With a broad grin, the man held his hands out in front of him.

"Hey, Agent McGee," he said, calmly, "why don't we head back to the house? It's awfully cold out here. Don't you think you might want to go somewhere warm?" Pulling his brown leather jacket closer to his body, Baseball Cap motioned with his head towards what McGee gathered to be the general vicinity of the farmhouse.

Narrowing his eyes, Tim shook his head. "T-t-thanks, b-but I-I-I'm okay. It's n-not t-t-t-too c-c-old out h-h-here."

As he attempted a smile, a cold wind blasted and left him shivering violently.

"You know these woods border a state park, right?" Baseball Cap stated, stepping forward. As he gestured towards the trees, McGee's heavy eyes followed. "Head in the wrong direction and you'll wind up smack dab in hundreds of acres of forest. With no one knowing that you're here, _you'll freeze to death. _Why don't we just head back?"

Swallowing hard, the junior agent carefully considered his options : be taken hostage again or try his survival training in the woods. As he ran a frozen hand over the back of his head, he glared at the man.

_"I'm n-n-n-not g-going anywhere w-w-with you." _

"Really, Agent McGee, make this easy on yourself and we can head back to the house," Baseball Cap requested, taking another step forward.

"N-n-no w-w-way," Tim stated, dropping into a fight stance. With a loud sigh, the other man dramatically rolled his eyes.

"Fine, have it _your _way." Before Baseball Cap could react, McGee hopped forward, delivering a solid blow to the man's jaw. Staggering backwards, Baseball Cap spit blood on the ground and grinned wickedly. "Didn't think you had it in you."

Without giving the agent a chance to block, Baseball Cap managed to catch McGee in the stomach, leaving him weak in the knees. Another fist connected with Tim's face, making his cheek burn.

When he lunched for a third strike, the junior agent landed a hard punch in the center of Baseball Cap's face. Underneath his fist, there was a sickening crunch. Baseball Cap stumbled several feet away, clutching his face as blood ran from behind his hands.

_"You son of a bitch." _

McGee suddenly wondered what happened to the man who'd accompanied Baseball Cap earlier. Before Tim had a chance to turn around, a pair of strong hands grabbed his arms, retching them behind his back.

_What the - ? _

Struggling against the person holding him, McGee watched Baseball Cap pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I think you broke my nose, you bastard," he growled, his voice sounding congested as the blood ran down onto his lips. While the junior agent continued to fight against the person restraining him, Baseball Cap punched McGee's stomach. The hit pulled the air out of the agent's lungs, making his knees buckle.

Tim glanced up just in time to see Baseball Cap gearing for another strike. Instinctively, the agent kicked out and the other man sidestepped. Instead of connecting with the man's shin as intended, McGee's foot impacted deeply between the man's legs.

As Baseball Cap let out a howl and fell to the ground, both McGee and the man behind him froze. Breathing slowly, Baseball Cap rocked back on his knees and the man behind McGee exhaled his sympathies.

"S-s-sorry," the agent broached, his cheeks flushing.

"Yeah, right," the man behind McGee growled, shaking him roughly. As he tried to pull himself from the grasp again, Tim began to tire from the exertion. Teeth clenched, Baseball Cap glanced up at McGee. As the agent swallowed hard, the other man spat on the ground in front of Tim's feet. Breathing heavily, Baseball Cap slowly pulled himself to his feet. He approached McGee, careful to stay out of range of Tim's legs. Reaching behind his back, he pulled out a gun and held it up so McGee could see.

_Looked like a Sig Sauer, probably McGee's own weapon. _

"You're lucky 711 wants you alive, _for now,_" Baseball Cap growled, hawking blood next to the agent's shoe. "You shoulda just come back with us, Agent McGee. It'd have been a hell of a lot easier on you."

When he nodded, the man behind McGee shifted, releasing Tim's his left arm.

Swinging his arm, McGee tried to land another hit on Baseball Cap. The man caught Tim's hand, twisting the agent's wrist hard. Unable to bite back a yell, Tim grimaced. Behind him, the other man fumbled for something in his pocket. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late for him to do anything. The man behind him clicked a handcuff around one wrist and pulled McGee's other arm back.

When he was handcuffed, the other man shoved McGee roughly. Stumbling, Tim glared back at the unfamiliar auburn haired man who'd managed to sneak up on him.

"Come on," Baseball Cap growled, pushing the agent forward. As McGee struggled to stay upright, the man rolled his eyes, propelling the agent back towards the farmhouse again.

_"Move." _


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer : Still own nothing.  
**

**Author's note :** _As always, thank you to everyone who's read, followed and favorited since the last update. I also would like to thank **Long Live BRUCAS, Precious Pup, scousemuz1k, Scat2010, angelscatie, HSMSupernatural, RJane's Vindication and a Guest **for leaving reviews. I truly do appreciate your thoughts. They're extremely rewarding. _

_Hate to ask you readers, but I'm trying to remember something from canon for my next story. Anybody remember which season Abby develops her phobia of autopsy? If you could PM me or drop a review, I'd be forever grateful. _

_Well, pretty long chapter today! Hope you enjoy! _

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**3:42pm – North Second Street, Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Heading down the busy city street, Tony DiNozzo fell in step with Noah Porter. As they passed colonial store fronts that now housed modern outlets, the agent felt his stomach clench. While they moved, he wondered if this was the same sensation Gibbs felt whenever they were close to something exciting. Out of nowhere, the realization hit him.

_They were so close to recovering a treasure, a real treasure. _

"It's down this way," Porter stated, pointing to an offshoot from the bustling street.

If Noah hadn't alerted him, Tony would have missed the entrance to Elfreth's Alley. Starting down the quiet side lane, DiNozzo marveled at the tightness of the colonial era street. Barely wide enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder, he debated if it even constituted a street. Lined with nearly identical brick row houses, the thoroughfare was completely deserted. As they moved down the cobbled alleyway, DiNozzo noted the houses' only distinguishing factors on were their numbers and different colored shutters.

As a wind blasted, DiNozzo braced himself, pulling his coat tighter. With the tight space concentrating the airstream, Tony might as well have been unprotected. A clanking noise diverted the agent's attention and he watched a small potted plant rock in the wind by a door frame. For the first time, he noticed the multitude of vegetation that inhabited pots, hanging from window boxes and nestled on front stoops. As another wind blew past, the leaves on the plants swayed and Tony shivered again.

"Which one are we looking for?" DiNozzo asked, breaking the silence. Already halfway through the alley, Noah marched with no intention of slowing.

"108. First house on the _other _side," Noah responded, not bothering to turn around. A cloud passed over the sun and plunged the alley into near darkness. Pulling his coat even tighter, the agent wondered how people had managed to continually inhabit the cramped street since its creation in the 1730s.

Shoes scraping over the cobblestone, the pair marched in silence until they reached the other end of the alley. At the meeting place of the past and present, just beyond the antiquated lamp posts and right before the modern asphalt, the last row house stood dejected. With its crackled green shudders and moss growing from between the bricks' mortar, the house looked every year its age.

"Well," Noah stated, gesturing uncertainly towards the dwelling, "this is it."

Staring intently at the seafoam French doors that led to the interior, Tony nodded. "So, now what?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, he barely caught the half-hearted shrug as Porter stepped back to examine the structure.

_Was he counting the exterior's bricks? _

Turning his attention back to the entrance, he thought a figure approached on the other side of the glass. It took several long moments before the door opened and a feeble, elderly woman appeared in the doorway. Gazing at the men through her thick-rimmed cat glasses, she grinned broadly and bobbed her head towards DiNozzo.

"Are you the two men from the historical society?"

Ignoring Porter's dumb-founded glance, DiNozzo figured the best undercover roles were the ones you didn't have to create. Before Noah had a chance to recover, Tony nodded profusely and slipped back into the South Philly accent he'd picked up on the force.

"Yes, why yes, we are. Tony DiNardo," he extended his hand and shook hers, feeling her joints underneath crepe paper skin, "and this is my assistant, Bob Kincaid." Nodding towards Noah, the other man gave a lackluster wave.

"Ms. Finnoula Flanagan," she beamed, a slight Irish lilt enhancing her voice. Beginning to stumble, she caught herself against the door. Pulling off her cat-glasses, she squinted at the men while she cleaned them. As she pushed them back on, she stepped out of the way and held her arm out. "Well, why don't you gentlemen come in from the cold?"

Deciding it was the easiest way into the house, DiNozzo shrugged at Porter and stepped over the granite slab that served as the door's threshold. Once inside, Tony gaped at the tightness of the sitting room that abutted a minute dining area. A set of stairs, directly in front of him, led off-kilter to the upper levels. His eyes wandered around the shadowy hallway and dark wood stairs before finding the slight Finnoula.

"So Fin - ," DiNozzo started, stopping suddenly when the elderly woman's green eyes narrowed. "_Ms. Flanagan, _what can you tell us about the house?" As she stepped forward into the dining room, Tony made a face at Porter.

_Do you see anything, _he mouthed. Noah shook his head.

"Well, gentlemen, what would you like to see?"

Exchanging an awkward glance, both men stared at each other for a few seconds. Before Tony had a chance to speak, Porter grinned apologetically. "Well, Ms. Flanagan, I had a bit too much coffee on the cab ride over. Would you mind if I used your restroom?"

"Not at all, dearie," she crooned, almost to herself. "Top o' the stairs. If the door gets stuck, just keep yelling until I get up there to let you out. My memory's not what it used to be." As she shook her head, Noah shot DiNozzo a confused look before vanishing up to the second floor.

"So, Ms. Flanagan, can you tell me about the history of the house?" Tony asked, waving his arms. As she started into a long winded story about _all _of the home's previous tenants, DiNozzo followed her slow, shuffling steps through the small sitting room and into the smaller dining room. Crossing his arms, the agent tried not to touch any of the home's antiquated furniture.

_The place felt like a museum, given its history, it might as well be.  
_

As she shambled past a drop-leaf table, Finnoula paused, glancing back towards DiNozzo to confirm his attention. Sliding past the table that nearly pressed into the wall, the agent animatedly nodded. Seemingly satisfied, Finnoula waved her hand over her shoulder and continued her tour.

Leading the way into the galley kitchen, Finnoula shot a wicked smile at DiNozzo over he shoulder. When she winked at him, he nodded intensely and tried to hide his efforts to examine the walls for clues.

Turning around, she smiled at Tony and gestured towards the kitchen. As he glanced towards the small, green back door and breakfast table slammed into a corner, he nodded again. When her smile broadened, showing more of her dentures, he wondered to what he had just agreed.

"Oh wonderful," she crowed, clapping her hands, "it's so wonderful that you decided to stay for a cup of tea, Mr. DeNiro. Please take a seat." Shuffling towards the stove, she pointed to a small table.

"It's DiNo – Nardo, but wait, - _what?" _DiNozzo did a quick double take between the open chair and the tiny woman who clutched a chicken-shaped kettle. "Tea? _Now? _Shouldn't we wait for Bob?"

"Who?" Glancing at DiNozzo, confusion passed over the octogenrian's face.

"Nevermind, no one," DiNozzo muttered, figuring that if she'd forgotten about Porter an escape would be easier. _"But what's this about tea?"_

"You offered to stay for a cup while I tell you about the history of my family and their lives in the city! Could be an interesting feature for the newspaper!" As she flicked on the stove, DiNozzo wondered how she forgot his cover story. No protest was allowed as Finnoula grabbed Tony's arm with surprising strength and pushed him into an open chair. As he leaned his elbows onto the table, he glanced out the back window and watched the garden's plants sway in the wind.

From above, DiNozzo heard a quiet creak followed by a dull thud. Holding his breath, he checked on the woman and watched her continue to busy herself with an antique tea pot.

_Porter must have found something. _

"Will it be orange pekoe, Earl Grey or Darjeeling, Mr. DeNiro?" Approaching the table, Finnoula carried a large tray filled with cookies, tea bag and an antique china tea set. Trying to ignore the racket above them, DiNozzo smiled tensely and pointed towards a green bag. "Darjeeling, good choice!"

Tony watched the elderly woman sink into a chair, busying herself with adding milk to the cups. As she shuffled back with the cups, he wondered how the elderly woman didn't hear the noise from above.

_Was that sawing? Just what the hell was Porter doing to the house?! _

"So what can you tell me about your family's history with the house?" DiNozzo queried.

Something dropped and echoed through the kitchen with a dull thud. Smiling tensely, DiNozzo laughed.

Grinning, she grabbed for a sugar cookie. "Well, my father bought this house a few years before I was born from some unsavory folks. The Flanagans have lived here for nearly a century. We - ." The noise above them stopped and Finnoula paused, frown lines deepening on her aged face. "Do you hear that?"

Before Tony had an opportunity to deny any noise, he realized the kettle was whistling.

"The water's ready," he nodded, hopping out of his seat and returning to pour it. "Sounds fascinating about your family, why don't you tell me more?"

Placing the kettle on a chicken trivet by the stove, he headed back to his seat and took a sip of the tea. As she talked animatedly about her typical twelve child, Irish Catholic family, he tried not to gag on the strong taste of his drink.

_Maybe he'd just stick to lattes. _

Attempting to be polite, he engaged the conversation. But the only thing on his mind was what Porter might have uncovered. Taking another sip of his tea, DiNozzo gagged and watched Finnoula gesture. Recounting some adventure of a misspent youth, she winked knowingly at DiNozzo.

"If you know what I mean," she murmured. Tony instantly wished he'd heard that one.

As she started onto yet another story, Tony glanced outside the window. Taking another small sip of his tea, Tony spat it out as a body flew past the window. Before he had a chance to react, Porter's face appeared in the window behind Finnoula's shoulder and DiNozzo yelped. As she started to turn around, he tipped his cup, intentionally spilling his tea all over the table.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry, Mrs. Flanagan! Guess I wasn't expecting it to be so hot."

"Not a worry, Mr. DeNiro. I'll grab a towel," she muttered, attempting to keep her tone polite. After she struggled out of the chair, she shuffled her away across the kitchen. Outside the window, Porter held up a leather satchel and motioned for Tony to join him. On her way back, Finnoula had started to recite another story.

_Maybe he should introduce her to Ducky. Or Porter.  
_

Trying to decide the more verbose storyteller, Tony shook his head. While she leaned onto the table to mop up Tony's mess, she continued her tale and DiNozzo shrugged at Porter.

_You need to leave now, _Noah mouthed, jabbing his finger towards the back door. Shooting out of his chair, DiNozzo nearly knocked the elderly woman over.

"Ms. Flanagan, thank you so much for your time. But I do need to be leaving."

"Oh dear," she sighed quietly, pulling Tony in for a hug, "it was nice to have a visitor. You're more than welcome to stop by to sketch my home anytime that you like. Or please stop by just for tea, Mr. DeNiro. I've so enjoyed your company."

Nodding, DiNozzo wondered where she came up with that reason for his visit. "I will, Ms. Flanagan. Thanks for the tea!"

Stepping towards the backdoor, Tony caught the look of surprise on Finnoula's face as he pushed it open. "That's to the garden!"

By the time DiNozzo hopped off the flagstone steps, he had to break into a jog to catch Porter. As they passed through the white picket gate from her back yard into a modern alley, Noah held the leather satchel up for Tony to see.

"What did the numbers mean?" DiNozzo asked, taking the bag in his hands. It didn't look as heavy as it felt.

Laughing quietly, Porter ran a hand over his face and shook his head. "Almost didn't figure that one out. That crafty bastard carved a 22 into a random floorboard upstairs. After I found the room, it was twelve planks over and nine down. We got lucky that the floors are all original. In those houses, they usually aren't."

"Took you a couple tries to figure that out, huh?"

Pulling open the satchel, DiNozzo's mouth fell open at the dozens of pieces of assorted jewelry and loose gems. As they stepped into a bright patch of sun, the light reflected off the facets, nearly blinding Tony. He froze, letting out a low exhale.

With Tony's focus on the jewels, Porter's response was lost in the wind.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**3:51pm – Corner of Sixth and Market Street – Philadelphia, Pa. – Concurrent with Noah Porter's Defenestration –**

Stalking down Sixth Street, Jethro Gibbs barely registered the anxious pedestrians leaping out of his way. Trying to stay beside him, Ziva David deftly weaved around the foot traffic. Leo Carlin trailed several lengths behind the pair, having apparently given up on walking with them.

"It _should _be just up here, Gibbs," Carlin yelled, voice drowned out by traffic. As the detective pointed out the location of _yet another_ Starbucks in Olde City, Gibbs growled.

_Who knew there were so many locations of that damn overpriced coffee in this part of the city? Yuppies and their damn fancy drinks. _

Waving a hand over his shoulder, Gibbs continued onward. When he'd called Abby to ask about the location of the Starbucks on the video, he hadn't been able to reach her. The only piece of information he'd remembered from their conversation was that it had been Starbucks. At first, he'd figured tracking down the location of the coffeehouse would be easy. That was well before he'd found out there were dozens of stores in a few block radius from Independence Hall.

As a result, he'd been forced to interview baristas at every single shop in the historical section of the city. Touching an icy hand to the back of his neck, the team leader knew if he saw one more green apron that he'd have a justifiable reason to shoot someone, namely Carlin.

"Gibbs," Ziva murmured, stopping suddenly, "it is there."

Clenching his teeth and nodding, the team leader strode into the coffee shop. As he entered, the heat from the store blasted and he unzipped his jacket. Heading to the front counter, Gibbs narrowed his eyes at the several people waiting in front of him.

_It was the middle of the day, didn't people have somewhere better to be other than Starbucks? Like maybe work? _

As Ziva and Carlin settled beside him, the trio waited impatiently for the dark-haired barista to take several orders and then finish a conversation with a coworker.

"This is the last one in Olde City," Carlin remarked to no one in particular. Shaking his head, Gibbs didn't need the reminder and he narrowed his eyes at the young barista.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, the barista made a face at her coworker. "Can I help you guys?"

"Yeah," the team leader growled, flipping open his badge, "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Did you serve coffee to his man earlier today?"

Ziva displayed a pixelated and decidedly unflattering image of Tony on her cell phone. Biting her lower lip, the barista slowly processed the situation.

"Actually, he _was _in here earlier. What'd he do?"

Shaking her head, Ziva flipped her phone closed. "Was he alone?"

"No, he was with some other guy. Ordered a grande, quad-shot, no foam skinny latte and a grande regular. Gave the names Tony and Bob for the cups," the barista continued, eyeing the group of law enforcement officers. Rolling his eyes, Gibbs shook his head again.

_Leave it to DiNozzo to order some frou-frou drink while he was supposed to be helping McGee. _

"Can you describe the other man?" Ziva asked, shifting her weight.

"Oh yeah. He was tall, but not too tall. Maybe the same size as that guy you're looking for? But bigger, like heavier with broader shoulders. Dark hair, black or really dark brown, but not too dark. Brown eyes or maybe blue, but definitely not green. Not too old, maybe in his 40s or his late 30s. He had a really big black eye though. Must have pissed someone off," the barista rambled, closing her eyes as she recounted details.

"Helpful, and yet not," Carlin muttered, turning to look out the storefront.

"What was that, sir?" the barista queried, leaning over the counter towards him.

"Do you remember anything else?" Carlin interjected, sheepish grin spreading over his face.

Screwing her face up, the barista appeared to be trying to remember some fleeting moment. Finally, she shrugged and jutted her lower lip out. "One guy called the other one Kincaid or Kinsey or Kenzie, I think."

While Ziva made a notation in a small notepad, Gibbs nodded slowly. As a different barista started to make a cup of coffee for another customer, the team leader allowed the sweet aroma to fill his nostrils.

_When had he finished that last one? Right now, he was dragging. It wasn't like he could think clearly without a fresh cup. If he couldn't remember, it had been way too G-damn long. _

"Thanks for your help," Carlin stated, moving towards the door while Ziva followed. When Gibbs didn't automatically push his way to the forefront, the pair glanced questioningly back at him.

Ignoring them, Gibbs pulled out his wallet and gestured towards the coffee carafes on the counter. _"Large, black." _

Contorting her face into a wide smile, the barista shook her head and pointed towards the cup sizes. "But Special Agent Gibbs, we don't have _large. _We only serve _tall, grande _and _venti._"

It was only when Ziva grabbed his arm did Gibbs notice that he'd reached for his weapon.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer : Still own nothing, except all the typos.  
**

**Author's note :** _I'd like to start like always by thanking everyone who's read, favorited and followed so far. Also, extra thanks to **Long Live BRUCAS, angelscatie RJane's Vindication, and a Guest **for leaving reviews. Your thoughts are truly appreciated. _

_If you're a reader of this story, please make sure that you caught chapter 21. Fanfic glitched and made most multi-chapter stories inaccessible for part of the weekend. _

_Hope you enjoy this one. _

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**4:01pm – Somewhere North of Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Running his hand to the back of his neck, Henry Watkins frowned at the perspiration under his fingertips. He rubbed the sweat on his jeans as he climbed out of his chair. Pacing around the expansive kitchen, he shook his head at his current predicament.

_A misplaced federal agent was certainly not beneficial at all. _

Clenching his jaw, he checked out the back window for the umpteenth time in the past few minutes. It'd been nearly four hours since his men had scattered in all directions in search of Agent McGee. When 554 and 591 had returned empty handed some time ago, Watkins barely hid his rising fear.

Stopping suddenly, Henry didn't even realize that he'd been anxiously trailing the kitchen counter. Glancing out the window again, he made a face when he saw nothing. So far his plan hadn't played out quite as expected.

_All he'd wanted was to land his retirement score without any problem. He'd realized a little too late that taking hostages could complicate things.  
_

As he crossed the kitchen to retrieve a glass, his frown deepened, accentuating the creases on his face. While he filled the glass with water from the spigot, Watkins shook his head again. All he wanted was to find the jewels, fence them and disappear to somewhere in the Caribbean.

There should be no muss, no fuss, just money.

_At first, he'd thought they'd never turn up. Then he had a big break with agents came along. It's just funny that what brought him what he needed was now causing so many problems. _

Suddenly, the back door banged open. As Henry turned to see 145 enter, the glass clanked in the sink. With a nod toward Watkins, the auburn haired man stepped out of the way, allowing space for 318 to force a harried Tim McGee inside at gunpoint. Breathing shallowly, the agent shook uncontrollably. Barely able to hide his relief, Watkins sank against the counter.

_Thank G-d, Agent McGee wasn't dead. Going to jail for murder certainly wasn't in his plans. _

"Where'd you find him?" Watkins asked, noticing 318's black eyes and the abnormal hook to his nose. With a sigh, Henry glanced at McGee's windburned face, seeing bruising painted on his jawline. He wondered why the agent just couldn't keep his head down.

"About halfway to the state park," 318 explained, sounding congested.

"You'd better be glad they found you," Watkins growled, eyes locking with the agent's. "With this weather, you could've froze to death."

There was a slight hitch in McGee's breathing to indicate that he'd registered Henry's words. Not responding, the agent dropped his eyes to the floor and tried to wrest himself out of 318's grasp.

"Where should we put him, 711?" 145 queried, reminding the group of his presence.

"Tie him up, put him in a closet," George shrugged absently, "doesn't matter, _just keep an eye on him this time_. I'm still waiting on 452's phone call. Speaking of which, _he's late._"

Instantly, McGee's terrified eyes snapped up from the floor; he pressed his lips together. Ignoring Tim, Watkins gestured towards the hall with his head.

"Come on," 318 growled, pulling the struggling agent out of the room. Leaning back against the counter, Watkins crossed his arms and sighed heavily.

_Just a couple more steps and he'd be all set to cash out his retirement. After all this, his biggest problem everyday would be what beverage to enjoy while he watched the ocean. _

His ringing phone pulled his mind away from his visions of white sand.

"Yeah?"

"711, it's 452." The voice on the other line sounded tense.

"Yeah?"

"Four o'clock phone call. How's Agent McGee?"

"Fine," Watkins shrugged, figuring he would be as long as 318 wasn't left alone with him.

"Good. Well, Agent DiNozzo and I recovered the treasure. Where should we meet?" Exhilaration filled Watkins and he silently pumped his fist. "711? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," he started, pausing to control the excitement that started to creep into his voice. "Franklin Square Park. Give us a few hours."

"See you then, 711." When the line went dead, Watkins grinned broadly. After all the years of hard work, he'd finally be able to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Starting to pace around the kitchen again, he took a few minutes to review his plan.

_Get his hands on the treasure, unload that damned agent, avoid the other one, lose his men and he was home free. _

_Yeah, that seemed simple enough. _

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**4:32pm – I-95 Park – I-95 Park - Corner of Chestnut and Front Streets, Philadelphia, Pa. –**

At a secluded table towards the middle of the park, DiNozzo stared dumbly at the pile of treasure spread across its surface. The longer he gazed at the mass of jewels in front of him, the less real the situation felt. Oddly silent, Porter picked up a large emerald and gold ring. Nearly an inch in length and beautifully faceted, the dying light of the afternoon shimmered off its surface.

"So," Tony asked, breaking the awestruck silence, "what happens to this now that we've actually found it?"

Shrugging, Porter dropped the ring and picked up an even larger, loose ruby. Turning it over in his hand, he glanced up at DiNozzo. "Well, I'm not exactly sure what happens to it. Do you really even care after 711 lets your partner go?"

"A little," Tony remarked, propping up his head on his hand.

"Well," Noah theorized, dropping his eyes back to the ruby, "I think we'll probably split it. After all, it was _our_ ancestors who captured it from the British during the Revolution."

Still in disbelief, Tony examined the mound of gold and closed his eyes for a second. In the sundry was everything from giant loose rubies and diamonds to several bejeweled rings to an ornate necklace crusted in diamonds and emeralds. If he had to guess, the spoils had to be worth well into the millions. With the history of the find, the jewels were probably worth considerably more, perhaps even priceless.

Reaching for the necklace, Tony tried to quash a tiny shiver of excitement that spread down his spine.

_He'd always wanted to find a real treasure. Too bad no one would probably believe him when it was all over. _

Shifting the necklace slightly, he watched the setting sun glisten off the facets of the tiny diamonds. Somewhere nearby, the street lamps flickered on and the reflected light made him smile tightly. Glancing over, he met Porter's open eye.

"Just seems like a shame, you know?"

Confusion passed over Noah's face and he raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"It'd be a shame to break up the collection and pass it out to your group. Don't you think that's exactly what your ancestors were trying to protect it from?"

For several minutes, the pair remained in silence as the sound of rush hour traffic echoed from the highway above. Finally, Porter picked up another ring, slowly studying it.

"So, Agent DiNozzo, what were you thinking?"

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:08pm – Franklin Square, Corner of 6th and Race Streets – Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, McGee desperately tried to ignore the gun pressed against the side of his head. His brain churned, jumping from his most recent game purchase to the plot of the book he was reading, anything but the gun that grazed his temple. Lying on the backseat of George's Mercedes with his hands still cuffed behind him, he was extremely uncomfortable. Forced into the position when they'd left the farmhouse hours ago, he couldn't remember exactly how long his left arm had been asleep.

When he shifted his weight to a better spot, Baseball Cap's strong hand shoved him back against the tan leather seat. Swallowing hard, the agent tried to find some sort of positive about the situation.

_Well, the car had stopped moving and let his motion sickness subside._

As the group waited in the silent car, McGee wondered exactly what they were expecting.

George's cell phone rang shrilly, shattering the tense silence. Not anticipating the sudden noise, Baseball Cap slammed his gun into McGee's head. Tim yelped loudly, causing the man to clamp his hand over McGee's mouth. Inhaling sharply, the agent focused his vision on the back of George's seat.

"You guys here? We're at Sixth and Race," George stated, pausing for the response. "Well then, let's meet in the middle by the fountain." As the leader flipped his phone closed, he checked out the window. "Alright, let's go."

"Okay," Baseball Cap growled, removing his hand and gun from McGee's head. As Tim righted himself, he flexed his hands, attempting to regain sensation in the left one. Peering out the window, he frantically searched for help. To his dismay, the tail end of rush hour and frigid wind chill left the darkened sidewalk deserted.

Watching Baseball Cap climb out of the car, McGee stared at the door handle. Not having to fret about his exit for long, the door flew open and George roughly pulled him out by his collar. As soon as he was on his feet, the leader grabbed Tim's arm, pulling him close and jabbing a gun against his ribs. The agent glanced from the weapon to George's face.

"So where are we meeting them, 711?" 145 asked, peering towards the park. The cold air began to seep into McGee's bones again. He bit his lip and tried not to shiver.

_What he wouldn't give for his coat. _

With an agitated sigh, George exasperatedly rolled his eyes.

"_In the middle, by the fountain._ Let's head through the trees. Keep your eyes open for 452 and Agent DiNozzo."

"Right," Baseball Cap nodded, entering the sparsely growing trees. Poking the gun against McGee's ribs, George propelled him forward. Forced to move quickly through the trees, Tim could barely make out the unlit path.

_The odds of anyone seeing them in the woods were low. Not that anyone was in the park anyway. _

Striving to keep up with Baseball Cap, George pushed the agent to move faster. With no traction from his dress shoes, he continually fought to maintain his footing on the icy ground. Somewhere far away, McGee could hear the din of traffic and the bustling city.

_How could everyone that might help him be so far away? _

"Come on," George chastised, pulling hard on McGee's arm. Up ahead, Tim could see the dim street lamps through the tree line. After several minutes of trekking, they finally stepped out from the trees onto a small concrete pavilion by a large fountain. Glancing around quickly, McGee's heart fell when he noticed there were still no pedestrians.

F_or such a big city, why was no one out? _

A gust of wind blew, rustling the trees and causing McGee to shiver violently. George let out a strange huffing noise and Tim wondered if the man was laughing.

"711!" Baseball Cap exclaimed, pointing to the opposite side of the non-running fountain. "They're over there."

George dug the gun into McGee's side, prompting the agent to follow the other men. As they rounded the fountain, Tim watched the two familiar figures approach. With his creased and dirty suit, Tony DiNozzo looked like he had seen better days. Even in the near dark, there was still no missing the large black eye on Noah Porter's face or the anger on DiNozzo's. With the men only feet away, George shook his head and pushed the gun deeper into McGee's side.

Tim winced.

_"That's close enough, Agent DiNozzo. Did you bring it?" _

Stopping short, DiNozzo nodded and help up a small leather satchel. While the senior agent narrowed his eyes at George, Porter moved closer to the men in his group, splitting the distance between the two.

"We found what you want, _George. _Let McGee go and I'll hand it over."

For several beats, George seemed to consider DiNozzo's offer. Around the trio, the spies watched the confrontation intently. With a quiet sigh, George finally released his tight hold on McGee's arm. George pushed him forward and Tim stumbled a few steps before falling to his knees. As he started to his feet, George clicked the safety off his gun.

_"Don't move." _

Heart pounding, McGee sank back to the ground and looked up at Tony.

"_You'll hand it over, now," _George growled, leveling his gun at the back of the junior agent's head. Feeling sick, McGee closed his eyes and exhaled slowly to calm himself. The action didn't work as Tim's heart skipped a beat.

In the dim glow of the street lamps, Tim missed the tiny flick of fear that passed over Tony's face. By the time he focused on DiNozzo's eyes again, the only emotion that registered on Tony's face was pure rage.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

_Cliffhanger! See you on Thursday! _


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer : Still own nothing but my OCs.  
**

**Author's note :** _I'd like to thank everyone who's read, favorited and followed this story so far. I appreciate the support. As always, huge thanks to **DS2010, Long Live BRUCAS, Precious Pup, Scat2010, scousemuz1uk, and RJane's Vindication **for the reviews. Your thoughts are really helpful. _

_Reaching the climax today. I won't be around on Saturday, so I'll shoot to post the resolution on Sunday with the epilogue on Monday. But we'll see how that goes. _

_Hope you enjoy.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:28pm – Corner of Fourth and Spruce Streets – Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Still gripping his cup of overpriced, now frigid, sludge, Gibbs waited impatient at a red light on Spruce Street. With a growl, the team leader pushed the button for the walk signal _again. _Several feet away, Ziva and Carlin watched the traffic glide on opposite sides of the street.

Swigging his coffee, Gibbs was thankful that the pair had stopped bothering him to abandon their search. Even with the wind chill pushing well below freezing, the trio would travel the city streets until they located DiNozzo. After that, he'd let Ziva use her powers of persuasion on the other man to find McGee. Grinding his teeth, Gibbs punched the walk button.

_It didn't matter if the entire process took them all night. He wouldn't lose two men in the field like this, not now, not ever. _

Directly in front of them, a cab stopped, letting an elderly man clamber out. Pulling Gibbs from his churning mind, the cabbie waved.

"Youse guys needa ride?"

As Gibbs narrowed his eyes, the other man got the hint and maneuvered the car away from the curb.

Out of nowhere, Gibbs felt that familiar clench crush his gut. When the bile burned his throat, he pressed his free hand to his stomach. As he checked down Fourth Street, the light finally changed. Carlin and Ziva hustled across the street.

Moving slowly, Gibbs started to follow. Suddenly, his gut spasmed again, paralyzing him. His coffee landed in the middle of the street, streaming over the crosswalk.

_Something was happening. T__hey were heading in the wrong direction. Not here, but somewhere near here. _

Spinning on his heel, he sprinted off towards wherever that feeling pulled him.

_"Ziva! Carlin! This way!" _

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:33pm - Franklin Square, Corner of 6th and Race Streets – Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Biting his lower lip, McGee kept his gaze fixed on DiNozzo's livid face. The senior agent remained inert, clutching the leather satchel with white knuckles. As DiNozzo's hard eyes flicked to George behind him, Tim swallowed audibly. His pulse pounded in his ears, worsening the nausea that threatened his empty stomach. When he tried to look Tony in the eyes again, DiNozzo wouldn't meet his gaze.

_He really was screwed. _

"You can hand that over at any time," George agitatedly reminded DiNozzo. Exhaling deliberately to slow his racing heart, McGee shifted his weight slightly. Behind him, George gestured, wide-eyed, towards DiNozzo's satchel and Tim. Around the standoff, the spies stood still, watching the escalating scene nervously.

They apparently hadn't foreseen this outcome from their adventure either.

McGee grimaced at the cold concrete that made his knees ache. As he looked back up at Tony, he only wished that he could spur the senior agent into action. Contorting his face into an easy smile, Tony finally crept forward.

"Not sure if this is what I'd call a fair trade."

"Oh yeah? So which one of us gets the better deal?" George asked, sounding moderately amused. Glancing up at the senior agent again, McGee had no idea what DiNozzo was doing. Though a gun pointed at the back of head certainly didn't help his mental prowess.

"Probably you," DiNozzo laughed, reaching McGee's side. Tony placed a supportive hand on his shoulder, squeezing it hard. With a quiet exhalation, Tim finally figured out what the senior agent had intended.

_It was a distraction to get closer, Tony actually did have a plan. _

"Look," George ordered, "just give me that damn bag so we can all get on with our lives."

Nodding his assent, DiNozzo held the satchel out for Porter. As Noah approached, he raised his eyebrows and the senior agent shook his head. While Porter delivered the bag to George, Tony turned his attention to McGee.

"Can you run?"

"Yeah," Tim hissed, scanning the edge of the park for any pedestrians.

"When I give the signal," DiNozzo whispered, voice tense, "head for the trees."

As McGee looked at Tony, he could see the seriousness on the senior agent's face.

"Got it," McGee confirmed, feeling his stomach seize in anticipation. Reaching down, Tony hooked his hand under Tim's armpit to pull him to his feet. Just as DiNozzo's muscles tensed, there was the distinct sound of a weight connecting with the concrete. Peering over his shoulder, Tim couldn't see what happened. But the way DiNozzo froze made him realize something went wrong, _very wrong_.

Tim swallowed hard.

"Rocks," George growled, kicking the satchel of stones. They skipped across the concrete. "_Are you freaking kidding me? You switched out the treasure for freaking rocks. Where the hell is it?" _

DiNozzo stood up, crossing his arms and setting his jaw.

"Where's _my _treasure?" George repeated, grip tightening on the gun pointed at Tim.

Realizing what was about to happen, DiNozzo shoved McGee face-down against the concrete. When Tim started struggling back to his knees, Tony put his foot on the younger man's back.

"Tony," McGee yelped at the frigid concrete beneath him.

_"Fine, I'll ask you again. Where the hell is my treasure?" _George roared, swinging his gun to find a new target at DiNozzo.

"It was never yours to begin with," DiNozzo challenged, standing his ground.

As McGee finally found a purchase point, DiNozzo applied more weight to his back, forcing him back to his belly. Stomach in knots, Tim urgently fought against Tony to right himself.

"Tony!"

_They needed to get out of this together. He just needed to - .  
_

_"Where the hell is it?" _

"No way in _hell_ am I telling you," DiNozzo countered, anger dripping from his voice.

In that instant, a gunshot cracked and the weight from McGee's back lifted. As the dull thud hit the ground, the junior agent held his breath and struggled to his knees. A few inches away, the senior agent lay unmoving while blood pooled under his back.

_"T-T-T-Tony!" _

McGee could only stare unbelieving at DiNozzo's supine form. When a small trail of warm blood licked the knee of Tim's pants, he started sliding towards Tony. Across the pavilion, the group of spies stared slack-jawed at George. Porter's muscles readied to dart into the trees, but George recovered first, swinging his gun hastily over the group.

_"Nobody move!"_ he yelled, light eyes burning as they flicked over four disbelieving faces. He ran a hand over his chin, glancing at the gun in his shaking hand. "It-it-it's not loaded. It's not supposed to be loaded. It's just to scare people. _No one's supposed to get hurt. I'm just supposed to get the treasure!" _

Glancing back to Tony, McGee watched the ragged rise of his chest and tried to discern the wound's outline. With the blood blossoming from his left shoulder, its loss appeared to be worse than the gunshot.

_But what did he know? He sure as hell wasn't a doctor. But Tim knew enough to know that Tony wasn't supposed to be leaking. _

With a shaking gun still pointed at his captive audience, George started another appeal. "It - . I - . You know I didn't mean to shoot him. _You all - ." _

As George stopped sputtering, he swung the unstable gun at different people within his group. In the heavy silence, McGee thought he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Out of the tree line, three armed figures exploded into the center of Franklin Square.

_"Freeze! Federal agents!" _

Before the agents could give any orders, all four spies sprinted in opposite directions.

"Ziva! Carlin!" Gibbs barked, pointing after the men and holstering his weapon.

"Yes, Gibbs!" Ziva shouted, hustling after one of the men with the other armed figure close behind.

Rushing towards DiNozzo, Gibbs quickly shrugged off his coat. Dropping into a crouch next to the senior agent, he jammed it against the wound and ignored the quiet wheeze that exited the Tony's lips. As he pushed his full weight onto the lifeless agent, Gibbs leaned forward into McGee's shaken face.

"You okay, Tim?" Gibbs probed, worry creeping into his tense voice. In the low light, McGee could see his boss visually checking him over.

"Fine, boss," McGee lied, failing at a convincing smile. "How's Tony?"

"Did they hurt you?" Gibbs pressed, pulling a bloody hand off his coat to check DiNozzo's thready pulse. Biting his lower lip, McGee shook his head and glanced at Tony's ashen face. Bile bit the back of his throat and he hiccuped, trying to swallow it again. As he continued to stare at the blood leaking under Gibbs' coat, Tim's vision became littered with black dots that started to swarm together.

McGee was starting to disconnect.

"Up here, McGee. _Look at me. Come on, Tim, look at me," _the team leader ordered, fighting the limpness of his jacket to keep even pressure on Tony's shoulder. As he lifted his eyes, McGee took a shaky breath and watched Gibbs nod. "That's it, Tim, keep breathing. Tony is going to be fine. It's a through and through, doesn't look like it hit anything."

When McGee started to drop his eyes, Gibbs leaned over in Tim's face and shook his head.

"Eyes on me, Tim. _Keep your eyes on me. That's an order." _Over the sound of trees rustling in the wind, McGee heard the wail of approaching ambulance sirens.

"H-h-h-holy s-s-s-h-hit, that h-h-hur-rts," DiNozzo stuttered, rousing slightly from his near comatose state. As both agents glanced down at other man, McGee let out a small puff of relief to see a smile on Tony's sweaty, pain-filled face.

With a wry laugh, Gibbs shook his head. "You got shot, DiNozzo. It's supposed to hurt."

"Y-y-you o-okay, P-p-probster?" When the team leader applied more pressure to DiNozzo's wound, the senior agent cried out. Unable to find the words, McGee nodded tightly. "G-g-good."

As Tony's eyes fluttered closed, Gibbs barked. "Stay with me, DiNozzo."

The senior agent's eyes opened as he desperately tried to obey the command. His eyes focused on Gibbs momentarily before they rolled back in his head.

_"Come on, DiNozzo! Wake up! G-damn it, Tony. Wake up!" _


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer :** Still own nothing but my OCs.

**Author's note : **_Thanks to everyone who's read, followed and favorited since the last update. Also, extra thanks to **Long Live BRUCAS, Precious Pup, scousemuz1k, Scat210, angelscatie, RJane's Vindication **and **AgentD.6. **As always, your thoughts and support are appreciated.  
_

_Last chapter of the main story. Will shoot for the epilogue either tomorrow or Tuesday just to tie up loose ends that I couldn't fit in here. _

_Hope you enjoy! _

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**10:15pm – Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania – 3400 Spruce St. Philadelphia, PA –**

At the tail end of his shift, registered nurse Bryan Rodriguez headed into room 4802 to take the vitals of a patient recently admitted to the floor. After an uneventful surgery to repair a torn deltoid resultant from a gunshot to the left shoulder, Anthony DiNozzo was resting comfortably.

It wasn't until he was halfway into the room that Bryan noticed an older man by the bed, gripping the rail. Rodriguez paused, leaning against the door.

"You did good today, Tony. I'm proud of you," the man murmured, scarcely audible. Rodriguez tried to duck into the hallway unnoticed. "I know you're there. Come in."

Cheeks flushed, Bryan entered, stretching past the man for the patient's chart. The older man studied Rodriguez intently, swigging the hospital's notoriously bad coffee with gusto. An awkward silence descended upon the pair while Rodriguez recorded DiNozzo's vital signs from the monitor on the wall. Even though it had been quite some time, the barely middle-aged man had yet to rouse from the post-surgery sedatives.

"You know," Rodriguez started, trying to make friendly conversation, "Mr. DiNozzo is lucky to have a father like you."

"Agent," the grey-haired man growled, watching the patient sleep.

"Excuse me?" Bryan asked, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around DiNozzo's arm.

"_Agent _DiNozzo."

"Oh, sorry, well, then Agent DiNozzo is lucky to have a father like you."

"Not his dad." Bryan tried, and failed, to recall a more painful conversation with a family member. "I'm his boss, Gibbs."

"Ah, well, I have to - ," Rodriguez started, but Gibbs cut him off.

_"Sit-rep." _

"Excuse me, a what?"

"How is he?" Gibbs asked, staring at Rodriguez intently.

Bryan glanced towards the door, wondering when exactly his shift had ended.

"Well, he's stable and his vitals are good. He should come out shortly. Hey, are you - ?"

"Agent McGee? Yeah," Gibbs nodded, his face indicating that he expected an update.

"He's sleeping a few doors down," Bryan explained. "When he came in through the ED, _Agent _McGee was extremely anxious so the doctors administered a sedative to calm him down. As far as I know, Dr. Aiello plans to keep him overnight for observation from the exposure. He was moderately hypothermic when he came in. There are extensive contusions on his torso. The doctor's planning to take an x-ray later to rule out any fractures once he's more comfortable."

The look in Gibbs' eyes told Rodriguez that he only confirmed what the agent already knew. Just when Gibbs started to speak, a loud exhalation from the bed distracted him.

Tony DiNozzo was finally awake. Pulling at the nasal cannula, he started to roll out of the bed. With a sigh, Gibbs stooped to place his coffee on the floor.

"Wait, Agent DiNozzo," Bryan gently pushed him back, "you need to relax. Do you know where you are?"

"How can I not? Do _you_ know where we are?"

"A hospital in Philadelphia," Gibbs answered, helping Rodriguez restrain his senior agent against the bed. Tony glanced up, eyes heavy and befuddled.

"That's what they want you to think, boss" DiNozzo stated, pushing limply against Gibbs' hands. "We've got to stop Dr. No before he gets to McGee and Ziva!"

As Bryan punched the call button, Gibbs leaned towards him. "What'd you guys give him for pain?"

"Morphine is standard post-surgery, if there's no allergy," Rodriguez stated, trying to understand the seriousness of Gibbs' face. As DiNozzo started out of the bed again, Bryan felt Tony's body shudder under their restraint.

"Dr. No, boss! He's going to get McGee and Ziva. _We've got to stop him_," Tony yelled, not seeing a woman in a white coat rush into the room. As DiNozzo's struggles became more heated, she checked Tony's chart before hooking a sedative into the IV line. He kicked out at Gibbs the same moment the doctor slammed the plunger. Within seconds, his movements slowed and he slumped against the bed, snoring quietly.

"What the heck was that?" Bryan asked, pulling the blanket back up on DiNozzo's chest. Behind him, the doctor smoothed her hair and shook her head.

With a shrug, Gibbs reached after his coffee.

"Never did do well with pain killers."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Sunday, November 19, 2006 – 9:24am– Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania - 3400 Spruce St. Philadelphia, PA –**

As he drifted somewhere between consciousness and sleep, DiNozzo turned, heading towards the bright light that lay the end of the tunnel. When his eyes opened, the light burned and he moaned quietly. Sometime ago, his tongue had turned to sandpaper. He swallowed, trying to rewet it. When he pulled in another breath, the sweet smell of pure oxygen and plastic tickled his nostrils.

With his back stiff, he shifted his weight to his opposite side. Something burned in his left shoulder and he hissed, rolling back into his original position. Sluggishly, he opened his eyes again and surveyed a stark hospital room. It was empty except for a TV quietly playing an old black and white movie and a few vinyl chairs. Recognizing Cary Grant and Rosalind Russel on the screen, he grinned at _His Girl Friday, _an American classics. In the corner, a familiar figure was sprawled across one of the chairs, sleeping deeply.

_Was that? _

When the figure tried to roll over, he missed, jerking himself awake instead. As he rubbed his eyes slowly, he shook his hand through his curly hair. His lips spread into a broad smile, revealing even teeth.

"Hey, hey Big D! You're finally awake!" Leo Carlin exclaimed, leaning forward in the chair.

"Heya, Little C," DiNozzo responded, grinning lazily.

"Yeah, now I remember why I always hated those nicknames."

Both men nodded at each other, trying to find the words to span the years. As they sat in silence for several long minutes, they searched for even ground.

"So I take it you got my voicemail," DiNozzo started, breaking the quiet.

"Yeah, you were right. That investigation really went to hell," Carlin laughed, his curls shaking as he did. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah, except for getting shot."

"Well, aside from that. But that's no big deal, right?" Leo grinned awkwardly.

When they fell back into an uneasy quiet, Carlin glanced towards the door for an escape route.

"So, how's Lene?" DiNozzo asked, dredging up the cause of their partnership-ending rift.

"Oh, the Greek goddess? Last I heard, she's enjoying Maui on my dime with her new boyfriend," Leo replied, darkly. Clasping his hands together, his eyes dropped to the floor. "Should have seen it coming after what happened with you."

"Sorry to hear it," DiNozzo shrugged, tone not matching his words. "She wasn't that great of a catch, anyway."

"Yeah, only good thing to come out of that relationship were my boys, Jonah and Lucas. Though she doesn't want anything to do with them since the divorce, hasn't been too easy on my own. You got kids, Tony?" Carlin replied, watching DiNozzo shake his head. With a tight smile, Leo brushed a hand over his cheek. "Best _and worst_ decision you'll ever make. But listen, I should probably let you rest. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Not sure what to say, Tony nodded. As Carlin started towards the door, DiNozzo made a face.

"Hey, Leo," he called out, "when this is all done, I think I owe you a beer."

Hand on the door, Carlin grinned broadly.

"Make it two and you're on."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**9:31am - Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania - 3400 Spruce St. Philadelphia, PA –**

Hopping off the elevator, Tim McGee clutched the cups of coffee he'd picked up at the hospital cafeteria. The beverage run had been a welcome distraction from the vigil he'd kept at Tony's bed side. As he passed the nurses' station, Bryan Rodriguez nodded a greeting. Smiling knowingly, McGee returned it.

Since Tim's discharge the previous day, he'd helped Bryan deal with Tony's continued, bizarre reaction to his post-surgery morphine. Without enough time to run out to purchase new clothes, Rodriguez had been kind enough provide Tim a set of his own.

Even though Tony had once said that he reacted strangely to pain medications, Tim hadn't quite been expecting what he witnessed. As McGee continued down the hall, Carlin headed towards him.

"Hey McGee," Leo said, taking a proffered coffee cup. "Tony's awake, so I'm going to take off. Nice to meet you, wish it was under better circumstances."

"Me too," McGee laughed, shifting uncomfortably. Out of nowhere his left side burned like fire and he pressed his free hand against it. Unable to stop himself, he grimaced.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, apparently one of those punches bruised some of my ribs. The doctor says I'm lucky they're not broken. Though if this is bruising, I'd hate to think how bad breaks would feel," he frowned. "Supposed to take some downtime, but with Tony here, I'm not sure if that'll happen."

Sipping his coffee, Carlin nodded sympathetically.

"But anyway," Tim smiled, awkwardly drank his coffee, "thanks for the help, Leo."

"You're welcome, though I think you might owe me a beer too. I'll see you around, Tim." Grinning, Carlin vanished in the direction of the elevators.

When McGee reached DiNozzo's room, he exhaled slowly, hoping his superior would be back to normal. He pulled a slow drink of his coffee. If Tony was still feeling the effects of the medication, Tim would need it. Bracing his side, he entered the hospital room to find DiNozzo looking exhausted, but alert.

When Tim approached, his eyes brightened.

"Probie! How are you?"

"Hey, Tony," McGee smiled, finding it funny that DiNozzo inquired about him while he lay in a hospital bed. "I'm okay, still a little cold. But I'm glad you're finally awake. How are _you_ feeling?"

"Sore," DiNozzo admitted, pushing himself higher in the hospital bed while McGee settled into a vinyl chair. Tim watched Tony nearly fall asleep.

_Thank G-d, he was back to normal. _

"Hey, Probie, they didn't - ? Did they - ?" Tony started, pausing when McGee raised his eyebrow.

_So he didn't remember? Oh crap. _

"Uh, um, uh, well, Tony - . Well, it's Sunday and uh - . Um, yeah, they gave you morphine after the surgery."

"_Oh shit," _DiNozzo remarked, the little color in his cheeks draining away. "Did I - ?"

McGee's eyes widened_. "Oh yeah."_

"Gibbs and Ziva?"

"Well, you acted a little weird, so they went back to DC. Gibbs left me behind until you were better," McGee explained, averting Tony's eyes.

"What did I do?" DiNozzo asked, embarrassment creeping into his voice.

"Uh, Tony, um -," Tim began, cheeks burning several shades of crimson. He inhaled sharply.

"Come on, Probie. _Just tell me."_

"Well, you gave Gibbs' phone number to a nurse," McGee recounted, watching Tony shrug lackadaisically before wincing. "Boss wasn't too happy when _he _called." DiNozzo cringed. "You bet Ziva that she couldn't kill you with your water pitcher. After you hounded her over it, I believe you challenged her with 'bring it on.' Come to think of it, I haven't seen it since they left for DC last night. You spent most of the night calling me Patsy and told me to get a coconut so I could be your trusty steed. For a while, you yelled '_Ni' _at all the nurses and I was allowed to say 'it'."

Tony shook his head. "Seriously? I tried to act out _The Quest for the Holy Grail_." The look on McGee's face answered for him. "Ah, _shit_."

"Yeah," McGee nodded. "On the bright side, Ziva and Carlin did manage to catch one of those guys from the spy ring. They ended up getting the one I chased from the bridge, unfortunately, George got away."

"Figures George would escape," Tony replied, grateful that the subject had changed. "Any leads from him?"

"Not much." McGee shook his head. "The guy has no idea where the farmhouse is or any of their names. Carlin's precinct is pressing charges, so the guy should be going away for a long time. Kidnapping, assault, criminal mischief and whatever else they decide to throw at him. Hey Tony, what ever happened to the treasure?"

Plucking out his nasal cannula, DiNozzo started to climb out of the bed.

"McGee, go get the doctor! _We need to get out of here!"_

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**12:42pm - I-95 Park – Corner of Chestnut and Front Streets - Philadelphia, Pa-**

Before McGee even parked the Charger, DiNozzo jumped out, jogging into the park. With his bandaged shoulder tucked in a sling, he'd barely allowed the doctor enough time to review discharge instructions before he'd signed himself out against medical advice. Not even Tim's desperate pleas at an extended observational period couldn't even keep him in the hospital.

McGee had originally balked at the idea of stopping by the park on the way back to the hotel. Though after a little creative persuasion, the junior agent had seen things Tony's way. Even though DiNozzo had no intention of actually telling Marissa from accounting about McGee's tights at last year's Renaissance Faire, Tim didn't need to know that.

"Tony," McGee called, trailing after him. "Where are we going?"

Pressing forward, a cold wind blew past DiNozzo and he shivered, pulling a suit coat he'd taken from the hospital's lost and found across the sling. With clothes collected as evidence in his shooting, he'd had to borrow some from the hospital. The suit he'd piece together wasn't quite Ermenegildo Zegna, but they would do until he could get home and back into Armani.

"DiNozzo! Come on! Where are we going?" McGee yelled, frustration evident in his voice.

Pausing in the center of the park, Tony searched for the tree where he'd stashed the treasure days earlier. If he thought McGee would've believed him, DiNozzo would have told him where he'd hid it. Though after his stunts in the hospital, Tim would probably think this trek to be another hallucination.

As he darted off the path into the woods, DiNozzo heard McGee mutter something that sounded like a curse.

_He didn't think the buttoned-up Probie knew words like those. _

Dress shoes crunching over the leaves, Tony continued until he found an old willow that split deeply down the center. With a deep breath, he reached into crack, feeling for the satchel. When he touched paper, he frowned deeply. Raising his eyebrows, he unfolded the piece of loose leaf.

_Agent DiNozzo – _

_I just wanted to say I'm sorry for everything. Hope you don't mind but I borrowed that ring I liked. I'll add it back to the collection as soon as you and your partner come pick me up. You know where to find me. My life finally had some excitement._

_I only hope that's worth the consequences. _

_N.P.  
_

_PS - You were right about Groundhog's Day. _

Rereading Porter's note, DiNozzo sighed heavily. When he heard McGee's approaching footsteps, he pocketed the note. Tim appeared from behind a tree, looking perplexed. Pausing, Tony studied the bruises and brush burns that littered the younger man's face. McGee's brow furrowed, pulling DiNozzo's attention to the black eye several days into healing.

_They were okay, that was all that mattered. _

DiNozzo smiled, knowing Noah Porter would pass the ring onto his grandchildren.

"Hey, Tony. What are you doing?" he asked, heading towards the tree. The wind blew again, leaving McGee's teeth chattering. Maybe he hadn't overcome that frostbite quite yet.

"Picking up the treasure," DiNozzo nodded, reaching into the crack again. As he pulled a canvas bag out of the willow's trunk, he grinned broadly and handed it to McGee.

Skeptically, Tim shook the bag open. DiNozzo watched the suspicion leave his junior agent's face. Eyes wide, McGee's gaze jumped from the bag of jewels to Tony's triumphant face.

"Tony, there's - . Oh, my - ._ Oh boy, it really did exist_." Tim exhaled slowly, sifting through the bag. "What are we, well, _you_ going to do with this?"

Waving his good arm, DiNozzo started back to the car. "Donate it."

"The Smithsonian?"

"I was thinking more like the Independence Branch of the Free Library of Philadelphia," Tony stated, grinning over his shoulder. "Used their archives to find it."

As they walked to the car, their shoes scraped over the frozen ground. Bag weighing heavy in his hands, Tim hoisted the spoils higher in his grasp.

"You know, Tony," McGee stated, seemingly out of nowhere. "I think you got the better deal."

"What?"

"When George asked you who got the better deal, I think you did," McGee explained, fighting gravity to keep hold on the bag.

"Where were you, Probie? I took a bullet," DiNozzo countered, gesturing to his arm.

"Well, yeah, but you ended up with the treasure, George got nothing. Plus I'm still alive, which is kind of nice. All things considered, I think you got the better deal," Tim smiled, unlocking the car. "So I take it I'm heading to the Free Library, then?"

As they slid into the seats, McGee turned the heat on full blast. Instantly, the sweat pricked Tony's forehead. Wiping his brow, DiNozzo made a face when he remembered that he'd left Arnie on a street corner nearly a week ago. With a sigh, he shook his head, knowing that he needed to keep his word.

"Not quite, McGee. First, we need to make a detour so I can buy an old friend a drink, er, a lot of them."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**2:47pm – The Crow's Nest – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC –**

Typing deliberately, Probationary Agent Kenji Suzuki made Barrows' suggested corrections to his report. If he were lucky, he'd be able to finish them and submit it to Shepard in time to be at his parents' for dinner.

As he started another round of proofreading, an eerie sensation fell over him.

_It felt like someone was watching him. _

While he deleted another sentence, he tried to quash the shiver that meandered down his spine. A cough distracted him, jerking his head away from the computer screen.

Planted in front of his desk, Special Agent Gibbs watched him intently. He held two coffees in his hands.

"Uh, um, sir," Suzuki started, cringing when he remembered that he was never to address Gibbs as sir. "Um, Gibbs, Barrows, he's not here. He's gone home for the day. My team, they left too."

Gibbs smirked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Not here to see Barrows, Suzuki. I'm here to see _you_." The color drained from Kenji's face as he desperately searched the office for anyone passing by.

"Um, sir - . Uh, Gibbs, um, if this is about Abby's interrogation, I didn't - . I'm - . It's just - . _You know how she is,_" Suzuki froze, heart racing. His cheeks burned. Without a word, Gibbs passed the extra coffee to Kenji. "Gibbs, I don't understand."

"You don't understand it, Suzuki, you drink it," Gibbs nodded, staring at the probationary agent until he took a sip. Despite his intense hatred for coffee, he took a drink to appease the terrifying agent. When Suzuki barely suppressed a gag, Gibbs smirked again.

With a nod of approval, Gibbs vanished from Barrows' section of the floor. As Kenji settled back into his chair, he knew the coffee was the closest thing to a thank you that he'd ever receive from Gibbs.

Grinning to himself, Suzuki took another well-earned sip.

The acidic taste of success left Kenji retching into his trashcan.

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Random History Lesson :** _If you_'_ve been enjoying the historical part of this story, __I guess this a good place to explain the Culper Spy Ring a little bit. If you're not interested in history and just stopped by for NCIS, skip away.  
_

_As America's first introduction into the world of espionage, the Culper Spy Ring was formed in NYC during the British occupation of 1778 by Benjamin Tallmedge under direct orders from George Washington. The group's activity was mainly isolated to Connecticut, NYC and Long Island during the latter half of the American Revolution. They are responsible for numerous important pieces of intel that helped turn the war around including the attempted arrest of American turncoat, Benedict Arnold. _

_The incredible thing about the group is that they evaded detection until the 1930s and it's only been within the last 80 years that historians have started to piece together their activities. Their success was derived from their inclusion of women in their group (most men did not believe women to be strong enough to have their own beliefs) and using invisible ink in the lines of newspapers and normal letters.  
_

_For this story, every place mentioned is a real historical landmark. None of the people, with the exception of Samuel Culper, are. _

_Everything that occurred in Philadelphia and the treasure are all a figment of my over-active imagination.  
_


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer : Still own nothing but the OCs.  
**

**Author's note :** _Thanks to all the favoriters, readers and followers. Special thanks to **Long Live BRUCAS, angelscatie, scousemuz1k, Precious Pup, RJane's Vindication, Scat210, **and **DS2010. **As always, your thoughts are incredibly appreciated. _

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Saturday, January 13, 2007 – 2:18pm – "Man Full of Troubles" Tavern – Philadelphia, Pa. –**

Pulling his coat closer, DiNozzo braced himself against the icy blast that chilled him to the bone. As he hopped up the flagstone steps to the heavy wood door, Tony tried not to think about his earlier month's adventure through the streets of Philadelphia. Unconsciously, he rolled his left shoulder, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through him. When he ducked into the poorly lit tavern, Tony nodded a greeting at the bartender.

The curly haired figure leaned over the bar, nursing a beer, was the only occupant. Sliding into the stool next to Leo Carlin, DiNozzo dropped a few bills on the bar and signaled for two more. Within seconds, the drinks appeared and the bartender retreated.

For several long moments, the two sat in silence. Carlin finished his first beer, moving on to DiNozzo's purchase. Each sip blurred Tony's head but he soon realized he would need a few more to survive their coming conversation.

"Glad you called me to meet up," Leo offered, broaching the quiet that filled the bar. "How'd your follow-up go?"

"Good," Tony nodded, pulling another drink from his bottle. "The doctor finally decided to clear me for field duty, which it's about time. I've had enough of my desk."

"That's great," Carlin said, studying the liquor bottles that lined the opposite side of the bar. When DiNozzo came up empty, he called the bartender for another round. "How's McGee been?"

"Not bad, I think. Says he's doing okay, but I'm not so sure. He seems a bit off since the whole thing happened. Just one of those things you can tell."

"Partners always can," Leo stated, as DiNozzo turned to face him.

Before Carlin could continue a conversation that Tony wasn't ready for, he interrupted. "Did you hear anything about that guy who abducted him? McGee's been waiting for the call to testify, but he hasn't heard anything yet."

"Didn't the DA call you guys?" When DiNozzo raised his eyebrows, Leo sighed loudly. "That guy Ziva and I arrested, Jerome Wilcox, had a bunch of priors B&E's and a few open cases for aggravated assault. Still not sure how he got mixed up in the whole Culper spy thing, but he somehow managed to plead out to false imprisonment. He should be in for at least 15 before he's eligible for parole. I'm surprised they didn't take him down for kidnapping a federal agent and," Carlin gestured towards Tony, "attempted murder of one."

Shrugging, DiNozzo didn't know the answer either.

"Seemed like the DA just wanted to make this one go away. I don't think he wanted too many people to find out about the destruction of a national landmark, kidnapped federal agents _and _a shooting with more than half the suspects still at large. It's an election year and he's trying to run on the platform of lower crime."

Carlin laughed, swigging his beer. As Leo started to speak again, Tony changed the subject.

"How are the boys?"

"Good," Leo said, showing Tony a picture on his phone. "Jonah just turned four and Lucas started walking. Last week was a busy one for us. Hard to believe how fast they're growing up. It's like I blink and there's something new that I never realized before." As DiNozzo glanced through the pictures, he smiled at Jonah's curly hair that matched Carlin's and Lucas' eyes that were as black as his mother's.

"Nice family, your mom still around to help?" DiNozzo took another swig of his beer.

"Yeah, that's the only way I could keep up with those guys," Carlin laughed, turning on his stool to face Tony.

Holding his hand up, DiNozzo called the bartender for a final round. When the bartender disappeared to take out the trash, Carlin raked his hand through his curly hair.

"What happened to us, Tony?" Carlin questioned, keeping his eyes riveted on the bar's hardwood top. As DiNozzo's head spun, he finally realized he'd had enough beer to confront their past.

"You proposed to my girlfriend before I did, guess it got me a little pissed off."

"Yeah, mad enough to break my jaw," Carlin agreed, rubbing a spot on the left side of his face. "I deserved that one, but I never did get a chance to apologize. I made a terrible mistake. You remember how Lene was, don't you?"

Taking another swig of his beer, DiNozzo let the alcohol seep into every crevice in his mouth. As he swallowed, he felt it singe his throat.

Remembering Lene Strovolos wasn't hard, in fact, forgetting her was the challenge. Their romance had progressed quickly, burned intensely and imploded catastrophically when Tony found out Carlin had proposed to the love of his life. As great a catch she was with her beauty and magnetic personality, DiNozzo had been crushed to lose her to another man, especially the one who was supposed to protect his life both off and on the beat.

To make the situation worse, Tony hadn't even known they were dating.

The night they announced their engagement, Tony had packed his apartment and resigned from the force. The moment he got another job, he left Philadelphia, never even looking back.

"I'm sorry," Carlin tried again, obviously troubled by DiNozzo's silence. "What I did was wrong, believe me, I know that. I should have told you. I should have - ."

"_Yeah, you're damn right._ _You should have told me_," Tony stated, not looking back towards Carlin.

"I'm sorry."

The silence seeped in, rolling its tide over the pair. As DiNozzo sipped his beer, Leo started pulling the soggy label off his bottle. Not glancing up, Carlin ripped it into tiny pieces.

"Were you happy?"

"What?"

"Were you and Lene happy?" DiNozzo asked, finally swiveling to face Leo.

"Only when she gave me the boys, that's it. She kept leaving me and I kept taking her back. She just had this weird power over me. I finally got fed up when Lucas got pneumonia really bad and I spent a night with him in the ER. When I found out that she was screwing some other guy while I watched _our son_ cough so hard he turned blue, I filed for divorce. I still have no idea how I ended owing her alimony _and _getting custody of the boys. Though it's probably worth it since she relinquished her parental rights. Some days I can't believe that I pay her to stay away from our children," Carlin sighed, eyes darkening.

Pressing his lips together, Tony ran his hand over his face and reminisced about his own life. While it hadn't been perfect since he left Philadelphia, he'd finally ended at a place where he'd found the meaning he'd spent so many years seeking. For a second, DiNozzo wondered what his life would be like if he'd married Lene all those years ago. When he glanced at Carlin, he saw what his future could have been.

An unfulfilled man burdened by life's responsibilities.

As DiNozzo felt the beer tickle his brain, he decided that his life's path, albeit unexpected, was the one he'd choose over again. Maybe it was the beer or perhaps it was something else, but Tony let go of his resentment towards Carlin. His former partner, a misdirected man who made a poor choice, pushed DiNozzo on to a life that he'd learned to enjoy.

"So, Leo," Tony asked, wobbling off the bar stool, "is that sushi place over on Market still open? I'm starving."

"You bet it's still there, Big D," Carlin laughed, dropping a few bills on the bar as he stood. As the pair leaned on each other, DiNozzo pushed open the heavy door to the tavern. When the bright sunlight hit his face, he grinned at Carlin.

"Hey, Little C," he slurred, feeling Leo's hand steer him towards Market Street, "tell me more about those boys of yours."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Wednesday, April 4, 2007 - 7:21am – Director's Office – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC –**

Seated at her desk, Jenny Shepard carefully reviewed Team Gibbs' latest set of expense reports. Every so often, she'd make a careful notation against an uncovered expense, most involving DiNozzo's large dinner receipts. When she noticed a familiar set of charges, she sighed loudly. Leaning back in her chair, she pulled off her glasses.

"Jethro, you know I can't authorize these hotel and food bills from Philadelphia. It's been almost five months now and you know I won't cover them. I wish you'd stop trying to sneak them in whenever you submit a new set of reports," she said, failing to suppress the anger in her voice.

Narrowing his eyes at her, Jethro Gibbs sipped his coffee.

"Look, if your team needed a vacation, you know I'd have been happy to authorize one for you. G-d knows DiNozzo already has enough time accumulated he could retire a year early. But since it wasn't related to a case I just can't cut your team a check for those expenses. Though I am impressed with the cost of The Quartering Hotel, was the mattress included?"

With a shrug, Gibbs smiled, heading towards the door.

"Next month, Jen, do me a favor. Don't look so hard."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**10:18am – Bullpen – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC –**

Glancing down at the cold case spread across his desk, Tony DiNozzo shook his head. With Gibbs on an inane mission to Abby's lab, the senior agent took a few minutes to check in on his underlings. In the middle of their own breaks, Tim McGee rapidly clicked something on his computer like he was playing a game and Ziva David leafed through a new hardback novel.

Desperate for entertainment, DiNozzo chose the easiest target. Fabricating a spitball, he snickered at the satisfying splat it made against Tim's head.

"Seriously, Tony? That's disgusting," McGee complained, wiping the spitball off his temple. Turning at his desk, he narrowed his eyes at DiNozzo.

DiNozzo responded with a well-aimed wad to the forehead.

"Come on, DiNozzo, knock it off," McGee started, sweeping the paper to the floor. As he scooped another piece of paper into his mouth, Ziva glanced up from her book.

"Tony," Ziva warned, tone dangerous, "it is safest for you to leave McGee alone." Somehow, in hands, the book looked as deadly as a gun.

DiNozzo swallowed the paper.

Meeting her lethal stare, Tony remembered when she'd described in detail how she could kill him with the plastic pitcher she'd pilfered from the hospital in Pennsylvania. Throughout the past few months, it made an occasional appearance on her desk. Though Tony knew it really was only to keep him in line, he didn't want to see her act out her fantasy.

"So what are you reading, Zee-vah?" Tony asked, changing the subject.

"Do you remember when we were in Philadelphia with the spies? It is very similar," she started, showing Tony the cover with a schooner blending into a pile of jewels.

Interest piqued, DiNozzo headed over to her desk and took the book from her hands. Slack-jawed, Tony stared at the cover of Buried Treasure by Bob Kincaid.

"You've got to be kidding me," DiNozzo stated, flipping over the book. On the back, an image of Noah Porter smiled back at him. Reading the insert on the dust jacket, Tony did a double take at the story's synopsis.

_During a seemingly normal murder, two FBI agents quickly find themselves in over their heads when a piece of evidence leads them to a centuries' old mystery. When street-wise Andrew DeNiro and rookie Tom Maguire start to connect the dots in their victim's life they discover connections to a clandestine group. Over the course of their investigation, Tom goes missing. As Andrew desperately searches for a way to save his partner, they are led on a mysterious treasure hunt that could be the greatest adventure of their lives. _

_Will they end up dead or will they find, Buried Treasure?_

"The characters are Feebies? _Seriously, FBI?_ Probie, did you - ?"

"Yeah," McGee groused, his attention back on his computer. "Lindy gave me an advance copy when I went to submit _my_ manuscript. Figures one of them would beat me to it."

"_Wait, what?! _Manuscript? McGoo, what are you talking about?" DiNozzo asked, looking dumbfounded between the book and his junior agent. Laughing nervously, Tim glanced up. When he noticed Ziva and Tony starting curiously at him, he loosened his tie.

"Well, I - . Uh - ," he stammered, cheeks burning crimson. "Um - . Well, you see, I started - ."

At that moment, Gibbs flew into the bullpen. McGee sighed with relief.

"Grab your gear, dead ensign in Annapolis." The team sprang into action, collecting their equipment.

Tony jogged to the elevator first, followed closely by Ziva. Unable to find his badge, Tim wasted a few seconds digging through his drawers for it. He could hear his boss' growl all the way across the floor.

"Today, McGee!"

When he'd finally wrapped his hands around it, he grinned triumphantly and swung his backpack on. Just as he started towards the elevator, Gibbs' yell sent him sprinting past it to the stairs.

_"Move your ass, MacGregor!" _

___-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Author's note: **_First of all, thanks to everyone who's finished the story with me. I appreciate the time that you've put into this with me. Also, I'd like to thank anyone who reads, favorites and reviews going forward. _

_Hopefully, you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. _

_Well, that's it for this one. Got a few more stories in the works, that'll be up...eventually. _

_See you in the next one!  
_


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